


Part Three: Redemption

by satanchangedmypresets



Series: Savior [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU diverges after Season 7 finale, Alternate Universe - Canon, Angelic Soulbond, Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Gen, M/M, Mpreg, Nephilim, Post-Purgatory, Post-season 7, Prophecy, Temporary Character Death, Wing Kink, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-15
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2017-11-16 09:49:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 161,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/538183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satanchangedmypresets/pseuds/satanchangedmypresets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The final installment of the "Savior" series, the truth that Gabriel has kept a secret finally comes to light and will lead Castiel to face a decision that will change his life. Samael stands to reorder Heaven, and even Crowley is caught in the middle as the Winchesters face off against the end of the world one final time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction

_For reference, Part One of Savior took place in the year 2015 and Part Two in 2016. Part Three will take place in 2016/2017._

* * *

Hello darlings.

Let me first say that I am not a writer, and I most certainly am not Chuck Shurley. While I personally had no interest in the previous parts of this story, there were things you needed to know. Like how the two lovebirds got over themselves and had a son, and how the moose nagged himself an archangel. My apologies if the story has seemed a bit choppy up until now. It was by no means a firsthand account of the goings on, and I had to piece it together from what those denim-clad nightmares were willing to tell me. Castiel was a great deal more help, but as all angels, he understands the benefit of a good yarn.

Things should get a little easier to follow from here on out. This last bit has me in a starring role, and well, let’s just say my memory is angelic.

* * *

_Summer 2012_

* * *

Ghosts didn’t go to Heaven when they die.

They didn’t go to Hell either.

No, humans became monsters when they ditched their reapers. When their bones, or whatever remained of them, were salted and burned, ghosts got a one-way ticket to Purgatory.

Bobby Singer didn’t exactly get a warm welcome. He’d hunted too many of these creatures to simple fade away into the background, but Purgatory was large and he could hide. He lost track of how many times he changed camp, how many times he had to fight his way through a monster or two that had a taste for his blood, and Bobby wondered how the hell he’d come to deserve this. Fate was a cruel bitch, despite how hot she looked on a good day.

Relief came suddenly one morning; at least, he was pretty sure it was morning. Sigils worked just as well in Purgatory as they did on Earth, and Bobby managed a good night’s rest for once. When he woke up, there was a tiny blue flame hovering about two feet above his head. He tried for at least an hour to douse it or chase it away, but it remained steadfast. In the end, he ignored it and headed on to his next site. It followed behind him resolutely, fading from blue to yellow to red as the day went on. Finally, Bobby turned and glared at it.

“Are we really playing “Hot or Cold” here?” he snapped and could’ve sworn that the flame sparked in answer. Bobby sighed and shifted the pack on his shoulder, little things he’d scavenged in his time.

“All right, let’s go then.”

The flame bounced backward, and Bobby settled for retracing his steps until the sun set. Even in the darkness, the flame burned steadily next to him. He stayed at the ready all night, sure that the light would draw some unpleasant guests, but the other monsters avoided the flame at all costs. Bobby wondered if the flame was really something he should be trusting, but he followed it the next day anyway. When they came to the base of a mountain, Bobby sighed and shook his head, salvaging just what he could carry in his hands from the pack and starting the long hike to the top.

He was unaware, but about this time, Dean and Castiel had also found their way into Purgatory.

Bobby kept careful track of how many days had passed, cutting a thin line into his arm every sunset. After nineteen marks, he didn’t wake up on the mountain. He woke up in a box. Bobby just let out a slow sigh then frowned when he heard the earth shifting above him. The top of his coffin burst open and he growled, blinking against the furious sunlight as a familiar accent reached his ears.

“Took you long enough. Come along, Bobby, get out of the ground.”

Crowley pulled him to his feet and dusted him off. Bobby coughed in the wake of the cloud of dust, and Crowley shoved a bottle of water into his hand. Bobby stared at him curiously, draining most of the bottle in one good swallow. Crowley just smirked back at him.

“What? Didn’t think I was going to make you crawl out of the box yourself now, did you?”

Bobby hadn’t realized it, but they were now standing on the ground outside his grave. Crowley flicked his wrist, the hole disappeared, and then he started through the field towards the road. Bobby looked around at the flattened grass and trees, swallowing hard before he jogged after Crowley.

“What do you want? I ain’t kidding when I say you’re the last face I expected to see. Did Dean and Sam take down Dick?”

“Oh yes, that was at least a few months ago. The Leviathan have been in total chaos since then, but I’ve been managing since Sam decided to retire.”

“Sam retired?”

Crowley nodded again. “Not for long, if you and I have anything to do about it.”

“I’m not going to pull him out of…”

Crowley turned around to face him, smirking. “Oh yes, you will. He’s alone, since Deano and Cas got themselves caught in the blowback from taking down Dick. He needs his daddy, and you’re just right to fill in.”

“Why did you pull me out?” Bobby sighed. “You gotta have a reason, and it sure wasn’t for my health or Sam’s, so why?”

“Because I like your pretty face,” Crowley snapped, annoyed.

Bobby glared at the spot where Crowley had just been, but now the demon was nowhere to be seen.

“Guess I’m hitch-hiking a ride home then,” he grumbled, starting his long walk down the road to the nearest gas station with a phone.

* * *

Sam greeted Bobby with a face full of a foul-smelling liquid, and Bobby sighed, glaring at his youngest son. “Do you want to knife me, or do I gotta do it myself? And where’s the holy water?”

Sam laughed as he shook his head. “I mixed it with the borax. Two birds with one stone?”

Bobby couldn’t help but grin as Sam stepped back to let him into the small apartment. Bobby looked around, noting with appreciation the small sigils carved in above the windows and a discrete salt line around the perimeter.

“Bobby…” Sam whispered and Bobby suddenly found himself engulfed in a mountain of a hug. He awkwardly patted Sam’s back and when Sam pulled away, there were tears in his eyes.

“You…we burned the flask…how?”

“Well,” Bobby shrugged. “We now know that ghosts go to Purgatory when they die.”

“Purgatory?” Sam exclaimed. “How…how did you get out?”

Bobby shifted away and Sam followed him, turning to maintain eye contact.

“Bobby…”

“Crowley, okay?” Bobby huffed. “He pulled me out somehow, I still don’t know. He got his panties in a twist and took off before I could ask.”

Sam nodded slowly, running a hand through his hair. Bobby let out a slow breath.

“Crowley said something about Dean and Cas getting caught in the recoil? What happened?”

He watched the despair fill Sam’s eyes and settled himself in for the ride.

* * *

It took them nearly a month to figure out that Dean and Castiel had ended up in Purgatory, and it was all thanks to Crowley.

Or, to give credit where credit is due, it was Bobby who summoned Crowley and ‘pried’ the answer out of him.

Crowley glanced down at the devil’s trap he was now contained in and looked up at the elder hunter, the match still sputtering in the brass bowl. Bobby dropped the box of matches and walked around in front of the table to face him.

“You know, you could just call.” Crowley complained.

“I’m sorry,” Bobby huffed sarcastically. “I didn’t know they had phones in Hell.”

“No, but I’m working on getting wifi.”

Bobby rolled his eyes as Crowley smoothly slid his hands into the pockets of his black over coat.

“What is it now, Bobby?” Crowley prompted as the silence grew between them. “Surely you didn’t call just to appreciate my good looks.”

Bobby snorted. “You brought me back out of Purgatory, and I brought Sam back from his apple pie life, and you still didn’t show. I want to know everything you’re planning, and I want to know right now.”

“Oh darling,” Crowley purred. “We could spend weeks down here in this lovely cellar of yours, and you still wouldn’t know everything I’m planning.”

“Give me the short version.” Bobby huffed, and Crowley sauntered forward to the edge of the devil’s trap. This brought him within a couple feet of Bobby. He smirked and shifted his weight and the table behind Bobby fell forward into the back of his legs, causing him to stumble forward until they were nearly nose to nose.

“There, that’s better,” Crowley started, reaching out to smooth the red plaid shirt Bobby was wearing that day. “Now, I’ll tell you the short version of what I’m planning, as it pertains to you. How’s that?”

“It’s a start.”

Crowley gave him a small smile. “Plainly, I want to keep my newly acquired position as King of Hell. I like it, but there are many people who want to see me fall. A long time ago, some information crossed my path that I didn’t fully understand, but I kept it nonetheless. Now, its meaning is starting to reveal itself, and unfortunately, I now need an angel’s input. That…is where you come in.”

“I’m not an angel.”

“But you know one.”

“Dean and Castiel are…”

“…in Purgatory. I chose not to warn them about the dangers of using God’s weapons. That one came to nip me in the bud, it seems.”

Bobby frowned at the demon’s sarcasm, even though it seemed to be his natural language.

“You knew they would end up in Purgatory.”

“I knew there was a strong possibility,” Crowley said simply, shrugging. “Now you know where they are, you can work on getting them out.”

“So you just want me and Sam to do your dirty work?”

“Essentially,” Crowley shrugged again, but this time he smiled as well. “However, knowing that this is exactly what I want you to do isn’t going to stop you from pulling them out now, is it? Or are you going to leave your precious ‘idjits’ in Purgatory alone? You know what it’s like there.”

“You really are an asshole.” Bobby finished shortly and Crowley laughed, rocking back on his heels.

“Well, at least we know what to expect from each other, don’t we, Bobby? You will never do things the easy way, and I will never be nice.”

Crowley vanished and Bobby cursed, glancing down to see his boot had scuffed the chalk when he had fallen forward. He crumpled his hat in his hands and sighed, making a mental note to try doing things the easy way next time.

* * *

Two weeks later, he and Sam worked a sigil into the floor of the cellar. It was a carefully drawn mirror image of the mark Castiel had used to open Purgatory, as well as a circle of Enochian summoning spells around it. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He stepped back from the last line of symbols, lit the mixed herbs in the bowl, and Sam began reading the Enochian spell.

Bobby woke up to his house on fire and Crowley cursing something fiercely. The demon’s hands curled around his shirt and hauled him up, glancing around as if to reorient himself and Bobby hurriedly looked through the flames for Sam.

“Where’s Sam?”

“I already got the moose out!” Crowley complained and cursed as he saw the flames licking under Bobby’s liquor cabinet. Bobby felt himself shoved down as the super-heated glass bottles and alcohol exploded out, and he could’ve sworn he felt something like wings folding around him, protecting.

Then Crowley was hauling him to his feet once more and half-dragging/half-pushing him out the side door onto the rocks in front of the garage. Sam was already there, lying on his back and coughing. As he watched, Sam managed to roll onto his hands and knees, struggling for air. He fell to his knees, laying a hand on his son’s back, and behind him, Crowley turned to face the burning house.

“Morons,” Bobby heard him say and he looked back.

Crowley had raised his hand towards the house and the flames began to die down, the glow on the horizon dimming. A buzzing fills his ears and Sam shakily removes his cell phone from his pocket.

“Sheriff?” he murmured weakly into the phone and Bobby glanced down.

When he looked up, Crowley was gone.

* * *

Crowley didn’t stay gone for too long. After the fire and the failed summoning, Sam went back to his apartment with Amelia and Bobby found that only his living room was scorched and most of his books had survived. He was still rebuilding his library from the last time his house had burned down, and now he was out of booze. He still had some beers in the fridge so he went with that, deciding to ignore the mess in the living room and watch some TV until he passed out.

“What were you trying to do, get yourself killed!?”

Crowley’s voice woke him up nearly two hours later and his empty beer bottle fell from the armchair to skitter across the floor. Crowley was glaring at him from across the room, a mostly empty bottle of scotch in one hand.

“I thought you were competent, completely capable of controlling yourself but no! You go and try something new and blow a hole in the fucking fabric of time and space!” Crowley shouted, throwing the bottle at him. “Where’s the Doctor!? He’s supposed to stop this shit!”

Bobby didn’t even need to dodge the widely thrown bottle, but slowly got to his feet as Crowley stumbled back into the kitchen.

“Are you…drunk?”

Crowley snorted, opening his fridge and grabbing a beer. “Of course not.”

Bobby watched as Crowley took a long drink from the bottle, his face twisted in disgust.

“How do you drink that swill?” He complained, calmly finishing the bottle despite his misgivings.

Bobby rolled his eyes as Crowley turned and drifted into the still scorched living room. Crowley snapped his fingers and suddenly everything was as it had been before the fire, down to the last book on the shelf. He nearly fell three times on his way across the room before Crowley finally flopped into the chair behind his desk and Bobby folded his arms over his chest, glaring at the demon.

“Why are you here?”

“Because I like your face.” Crowley grumbled, drawing invisible circles over the polished wood. “I don’t want to be in Hell right now, and I don’t want to be found, so I’m here. I don’t really like Hell.”

Bobby snorted as he dragged a chair over and sat down. Crowley’s gaze flicked to him before he let his head drop back and he stared up at the ceiling.

“I know, no one likes Hell. No one’s supposed to like Hell except maybe the truly dark and sinister souls. Still, I chose Hell as my home because I was afraid, and it’s the only home I’ve had, but I never really liked it.” Crowley mused distantly. “I was promised so much more, but he lied to me.”

“The demon?” Bobby asked, assuming Crowley was talking about the crossroads demon he’d sold his soul to all those years ago, and Crowley smiled, still staring up at the ceiling.

“No, despite the misconception, demons rarely lie. They don’t exactly need to anymore. The truth hurts so much worse. No, my dad lied to me, promised me so much, and gave so little.”

“Dads can be like that sometimes,” Something softened in Bobby in that moment, and the part of him that knew he should kick Crowley out, the part of him that remembered all the wrongs Crowley had done him in the past years, that part of him went quiet and still.

“Here,” Bobby murmured. “You can kip in the spare room if you like.”

Crowley lifted his head to look at him, his gaze curious as if he could understand Bobby if he simply looked long enough. Bobby raised an eyebrow as he met him stare for stare.

“I made you make a deal just so I could kiss you,” he announced into the near silence and Bobby snorted, shaking his head as he stood and crossed over to Crowley, hooking his arms under the demon’s and pulling him to his feet. He was surprisingly light, and Crowley’s arms fell over Bobby’s shoulders, leaning against him.

“You smell like wood smoke,” Crowley murmured from his shoulder. “And old books.”

“That’s me,” Bobby huffed, half-carrying Crowley to the spare bedroom and dropping him unceremoniously on the bed. “Smelly Bobby.”

“I like old books; some new ones as well. I support the education of our youth.”

“Shut up.”

Bobby watched as Crowley kicked off his shoes and rolled over.

“You know what I do like?” Crowley spoke again, his voice muffled by the pillow. “This meatsuit. It’s sexy. Doesn’t pinch like the first one I had.”

“If you’re still here in the morning, I’m exorcising you.”

Crowley waved a hand at him. “Shove all that pillow talk. Save it for when I’m sober.”

Crowley was gone in the morning, and Bobby went around the house that day, checking the wards and setting down enough salt to stop an army.

* * *

“You missed a spot.”

Bobby cursed in the kitchen, listening to the sound of Crowley raiding his newly restocked liquor cabinet.

“Ooo, you finally got the good stuff.”

Bobby shook his head and went back to fixing himself dinner, pointedly ignoring the demon. Crowley was apparently fine with that, content with stealing his scotch and disappearing.

\--

No amount of warding could keep Crowley out. This was getting ridiculous.

\--

“I told you, I like you.” Crowley complained as Bobby once again asked why he was there. “As much as I love human suffering, there’s only one volume in Hell and it’s loud.”

\--

“Where is the gay sex?”

Bobby rolled his eyes. “There’s no gay sex in Star Trek.”

Crowley shifted on the couch, his feet propped up on the coffee table, and swirled his scotch at the screen.

“What about those two? Pointy Ears and Bad Toupee?”

“Kirk and Spock? No!”

“Oh, they definitely look like they’re shagging.”

“You are not ruining…”

“Look! He’s giving him bedroom eyes!”

“Get out.”

* * *

_Fall 2013_

* * *

Sam called him to let him know Dean had gotten out, but Castiel was still missing. They agreed not to tell Dean that Bobby was back, not yet. They needed to see how Purgatory had affected Dean, who’d been on the verge of a mental breakdown only one year ago. Now, losing Castiel once more, there was no telling what Dean’s psyche was like.

“You’re worried.”

Bobby hung up the phone. “You’re a nuisance.”

Crowley leaned against the bookcase, shrugging lightly in silent agreement. Bobby stood and stretched, still pleased with how well his new legs worked with him. Without a word, he walked over and planted one on Crowley, the demon squeaking at the sudden change. Bobby shook his head, smirking as Crowley stared at him in surprise.

“Dumbass,” Bobby said shortly before heading to the kitchen for a beer.

* * *

“Dean…”

The hunter in question started slowly up the steps, his brother a few feet behind him.

“I’ve already tested him, Dean. It’s really Bobby.”

Bobby felt his heart swell when he saw tears in Dean’s eyes and felt his arms close around his son’s body, Dean clutching him close.

“Bobby…” Dean whispered reverently and Bobby frowned as he felt a shudder ripple through Dean and the elder Winchester drew a shaky breath.

“I…I think I left something in the car…” Sam murmured and Bobby half-nodded to him, Sam turning and heading back towards the Impala. He hadn’t gone far before Bobby felt the first broken sob force its way through Dean, and Bobby rubbed his back gently.

“I let him go, Bobby.” He heard Dean gasp, the words jerking out of him as if they pained him to say. Dean’s fingers dug into his back as the hunter came undone, his back bowing so his head fell onto Bobby’s shoulder. Bobby just squeezed him tightly, supporting.

“I promised I wouldn’t leave without him. ‘I’m not leaving without you,’ that’s what I said. I meant it to, I swear I did, and Bobby…he was screaming for me. _Screaming._ He was grabbing for me, and I tried, I tried to hold onto him but I couldn’t and…I let him go. _I let him go_.”

Castiel.

The name reverberated around Bobby’s head and he mentally steeled himself. This was going to be rough, but he’d seen Dean after he lost Castiel the first time. Dean needed Castiel, and maybe, just maybe, he was finally ready to admit it. He’d seen something going on between them for years.

“Don’t worry, son,” He said softly, keeping his hands on Dean’s shoulders even as Dean straightened up, wiping his eyes on his sleeves. “We’ll get him out.”

“You don’t understand, Bobby. There were Leviathan, and they were hunting him. What if…what if…”

“Don’t.” Bobby cut him off quickly. “Cas has never let us down before. That kid has faith in you, and you’re going to save him.”

Dean nodded and took a deep steadying breath, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Bobby smiled softly, beckoning Sam back over.

“Now, don’t get used to it, but I cooked and there are cold beers in the fridge.”

They watched Star Trek until midnight and Bobby felt his world was almost complete, drifting off to the sounds of Sam and Dean arguing over the differences in acting between Leonard Nimoy and Zachary Quinto.

* * *

Bobby met Dean’s new fellow in arms, a vampire named Benny. He called in a few favors, and set Benny up with a couple hunters to tag his trail. When it came to light that Benny was most certainly not keeping his nose clean, and had killed at least four people since breaking out of Purgatory, Bobby gave the go-ahead to separate his head from his body.

Dean was furious, but he didn’t have much time to be angry. In fact, he had less than a week.

* * *

It was a Friday morning in the winter of 2014 when Bobby heard that early that same morning, light had lit up an uninhabited patch of woods north of Lawrence, Kansas. When a couple and their teenage son investigated, they found a strange man in torn and filthy clothing who’d said only one word before disappearing.

That word had been ‘Dean.’

Bobby called Sam and Dean shortly after, and sent them home.

Dean called him the next morning to tell him they’d found Castiel, and boy did he need a shower.

* * *

“At any point should Party A inflict, coerce, command, influence another to, or in any way be associated with causing harm to the aforementioned, this contract will be null and void and Party A may be subject to…does it have to be exorcism? Why can’t you just beat me with a stick?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Crowley glanced to one side and shrugged as if he might indeed, and continued on with reading their contract. Bobby thought this had to be the weirdest form of foreplay in existence.

Later, he decided it was worth it.

\--

Crowley was not a morning person.

* * *

Bobby greeted Castiel with a hug, just as he would any of his sons. Castiel was stiff in his arms at first, but Bobby just huffed and nudged him.

“Now’s the part where you put your arms around me, idjit.”

Castiel smiled at the term of endearment, slowly letting his arms fold around Bobby’s waist, hands gentle against his back as if fearful of his reception.

“You’ve never called me that before,” Castiel said softly.

“Idjit.” Bobby said again, ruffling the angel’s hair when he pulled away.

Castiel just smiled shyly. Dean clapped him on the shoulder, squeezing slightly as he passed, and Bobby led the way into the kitchen. He passed a beer to each of his boys, smiling when Castiel looked curiously at his own before hesitantly tasting it.

“That is oddly pleasant,” the angel said after a moment and Dean laughed.

“This isn’t even the good stuff.”

* * *

Both Dean and Castiel acted liked spooked horses when alone, PTSD clearly written in their features, but put them together and they fell back on one another, drawing strength from each other without even realizing what they were doing. Bobby watched them, and Crowley brought him news for the weeks that his boys would go without calling him.

“They killed a vampire up in New Jersey. Jersey vamp, makes as much sense as anything else.”

“’Slender Man?’ That’s a monster? Do they really think they are hunting that…of _course_ , it was a shifter. Morons.”

“Wendigos only eat _people,_ moose. Rugarus eat cows.”

Bobby always smiled at Crowley’s commentary of the boys’ lives, knowing that the demon only kept track of them because it made him feel better.

“Do you think when Castiel and Dean get married, Castiel will wear the dress? Or Dean? Dean certainly does have the lips for gloss…”

Then again, maybe he did it for his own amusement also.

* * *

Amelia found out what Sam and Dean did when demons tried to possess her, and Sam killed the veterinary assistant at her job. She told him not to come near her again, and called him a ‘murderer.’ Worst of all, she took the dog.

Dean promised to get him another dog, and Sam told him to shut it.

* * *

All in all, the seasons passed as they always did, and Castiel’s first Christmas on Earth was celebrated traditionally. Dean insisted, and oversaw all the decorations and cooking. Castiel gave the best gifts. Bobby received a stone that would translate any language into his preferred, as well as insult anyone who tried to use it without permission…or if it was just having a bad day. Sam received a massive and ancient tome from the lost Library of Alexandria. Dean swore that Sam jizzed in his pants when Castiel explained where it had come from, and all the secrets it would no doubt hold.

Dean himself received an original Beatles record, featuring ‘Hey Jude.’ He listened to it for four hours before Sam swore he would strangle him if he had to listen to it one more time.

Dean taught Castiel how to play football, and they played two-on-two in the backyard. Dean swore that Castiel and Bobby cheated, but Bobby maintained that it was only fair to give the old man the angel.

Crowley always stayed away when the boys were there, but Bobby found that he rather liked it when Crowley returned because a jealous Crowley was always fun to soothe.  

* * *

On New Year’s Eve, Dean got completely wasted on vodka and Castiel had to carry him back to the motel. Dean kissed him at midnight while Castiel was trying to get him into bed.

Castiel may or may not have called Bobby in a panic. Bobby may or may not have told him to buck up, grow a pair, and tell Dean how he felt.

\--

A few weeks later, Dean dreamed of himself and Castiel in the woods, and of Castiel dropping to his knees and giving him a blowjob.

* * *

You, my faithful readers, know what happens after that.

Castiel and Dean get over themselves and finally fall into bed together, after they deal with the Inferi Alati, and set the stage for Sam and Gabriel to find one another. Honestly, if you’d asked me 200 years ago if Gabriel’s mate would turn out to be the moose, I would’ve stared at you in confusion because I had not yet met Sam and had never seen a moose.

So at last, my friends, we have come full circle. It was a long path that led us here, full of pain and strife, and our boys have one last battle to fight before the end. If you’ll bear with me from here on out, I assure you this will be quite the entertaining journey.

So, where were we? Oh yes, Castiel was screaming.

* * *

It wasn’t the sound that woke Dean up. There was no sound that could be heard by human ears. Castiel’s scream reverberated through his soul, echoing around him, and Dean was on his feet before he’d realized what was happening. Even standing, for the longest time, he couldn’t move, and then a blinding light burst through his skull from somewhere behind his eyes and he hit the floor.

When he woke up, sunlight was streaming in through the windows, pale flakes of snow passed back on the light breeze. It would’ve been peaceful if not for the shadows dancing around his head. Dean pushed himself onto his feet and stumbled into the kitchen, grabbing a cold beer and pressing it against his forehead. He walked to the sink and began running water into the coffee pot for coffee, dictated more by routine than anything. He was trying to remember why he’d woken up in the first place when he looked up and saw a figure half-buried in snow lying in their front yard.

“CAS!”

The beer burst when it hit the floor, and Dean ran barefoot and half-dressed out into the snow, skidding to his knees beside Castiel’s half-frozen form. Castiel was curled around himself, his skin pale and tinged blue. Dean let out a joyful cry when he saw Castiel’s chest expanding with each shattered breath. The AC/DC shirt Castiel had worn to bed was split down the back and Dean reached out to trace the burns forming a symbol on Castiel’s back. Castiel groaned in pain when Dean touched his wings, and Dean swallowed, setting his jaw.

“Okay,” He bent down, pulling Castiel’s arm over his shoulder and sliding an arm under his legs, carrying Castiel against his chest. Castiel’s wings slumped weakly, and Dean saw something shimmer in the snow as he stood up. Shifting, he watched as a flurry of feathers cascaded from Castiel’s wings, turning to dust the moment they hit the snow. Panic filled his chest as Castiel groaned and Dean swallowed against the sick feeling in his gut.

“Gabriel!” He shouted. “Gabriel, I need help!”

* * *

 


	2. Gabriel's Story

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know we've been waiting for this chapter for a while. Finally, Gabriel's story. This is the second most, if not the most important chapter of Savior, and I put a lot of heart into it. So I hope this is just as heart-wrenching for you to read as it was for me to write. 
> 
> Without further ado...

* * *

_There were so few of them._

_It was the first thing Gabriel noticed upon arrival in the Garden. He knew what Michael had been doing. He was certain he was the only archangel that did know, but he hadn’t known Michael was working so fast. He still had no idea how to counter Michael, or if there was anything he_ could _do to counter him. He was young, and far greater archangels had fought against Michael and failed._

_Like Lucifer._

_Gabriel couldn’t let the pain he felt thinking of his fallen brother show on his face, so he remained steadfastly silent. A wing tucked under his, foreign and yet familiar, and he turned his head sharply to see the fledgling next to him._

_“You shouldn’t be here.” He said quickly, giving the fledgling a slight shove away from him._

_The fledgling regarded him silently, as was his way, before reaching up and running two fingertips from the center of Gabriel’s forehead, down the line of his face to his jaw, and then leaned forward and kissed him._

_His Grace jumped at the fledgling’s proximity, and his heart skipped a beat hopefully, but it was filled with disappointment as the fledgling pulled away. He wasn’t Gabriel’s mate, and Gabriel knew this, had known it for a long time. The fledgling gave him a soft smile and spoke to him softly in the ancient language of the angels, the language angels knew at birth, rather than the Enochian they learned later. It was a language of light and fire and beauty and power and Gabriel felt it and knew these words that were not words were spoken only for him._

_Michael stepped into the Garden, standing in the middle where they all could see him. Gabriel turned to bow his head, and when he turned back the fledgling was gone, but he stood straighter, his wings flared slightly._

_Ash was scattered through the air. No matter where he flew, the bodies followed him. Bodies everywhere, every child of angels brought to bleed on their Father’s gifted land by angelic blade. He flew until his wings ached and he was exhausted, cradling his daughter’s body to his chest. He smoothed her golden hair, her tiny wings, her porcelain skin stained with blood. His body ached with its anguish, but angels did not have the luxury of weeping as humans did. They were not made to feel pain. They had no need of such an outlet._

_He carried himself and his daughter to the fires of the mountain, the mouth of the gods, Vesuvius, they called her. He called the mountain to him, begged it to raise its fires to consume him. It consumed his daughter and with his Grace, it bore its fire into the heavens. He heard the dying cries of the cities around him, added to his own soulful dirge._

_It consumed everything._

_It did not consume him._

_“No! Michael! Please! He’s not doing anything wrong! He’s not hurting anyone! Please, I’m begging you! I’ll do anything! Take me! That’s what you want, kill me instead! Please!”_

_His wings battered desperately against Michael’s, his Grace pleading, desperate, and he offered himself wholly to Michael. All that he was, all that he could be, all his power, but Michael still moved forward against the child he’d come to think of as his son. Dark hair, pale skin, gray-blue eyes that were frightened, looking to him for understanding as he tried to plead with this monster of fire and light, wings that would never be the breadth of a true angel, but were so beautiful in their own way: Malachi._

_Michael ignored him and advanced away from him, and in one last desperate attempt, Gabriel threw himself between Malachi and his brother. He spread his wings as high as he could, holding out his blade between them, and Michael faltered. For a moment, Gabriel thought Michael was going to finish him at last, but then Michael raised a hand. Heat poured over him, sloughing off his feathers, tearing at his skin. He grit his teeth, forcing himself not to scream, but he could hear Malachi screaming for him, calling out his name._

_“Father!” He felt Malachi lunge forward and Michael struck him away. Gabriel saw him lay crumbled, blood flowing freely from his nose and mouth, and he reached out a hand to him. Malachi stretched his hand out as well, reaching for him, but then he felt Michael’s hand upon his back, searing. He felt the brand as it formed, cutting through the Marcum on his back, binding in with his wings. He did scream then, as the felt the chains wrap themselves around and through his Grace._

_“It seems I cannot bring myself to kill you, brother,” Michael said calmly as he stood, leaving a weeping Gabriel on the ground._

_“Brother?!” Malachi gasped, having gotten to his knees. He stared up fearfully as Michael turned to him, raising a hand._

_“Michael…” Gabriel gasped, barely able to move, but he gathered all of his strength just to move his fingers, trying to reach for his son. “Please…”_

_“You, however,” Michael addressed Malachi, ignoring his brother. “are one for which I have no fondness.”_

_He pressed two fingers to Malachi’s forehead, and Malachi’s shrieks filled the air._

Sam woke to a strangled shout and a terrified archangel trying to escape his arms. He bit back a curse when he felt his arm break and immediately let go of Gabriel, the archangel crashing out of their bed. Gabriel seemed to come to himself when he hit the floor, blinking and looking around blearily before he noticed Sam’s face contorted in pain. Instantly he was back at Sam’s side, touching his arm and the pain was gone.

“Oh Sam, Sam, I’m so sorry. Sam…”

Sam blinked sleepily as Gabriel hesitated to touch him, afraid that Sam might push him away, but Sam just opened his arms once more. Instantly, Gabriel fell into them, pressing his face into Sam’s neck as he tried to burrow his way into his mate’s skin.

“I’m all right,” Sam murmured. “No harm, no foul. Nightmares again?”

Gabriel nodded slowly, and Sam could feel hot tears on his shoulder as Gabriel’s shoulders shook. He ran his hands over Gabriel’s back, the cotton of the borrowed t-shirt smooth beneath his hands. Sam naturally avoided the ridges of the brand that twisted around the base of Gabriel’s wings.

It had been shortly after Castiel had restored him that Gabriel had started having nightmares: dark, twisted memories from his past. Sam knew that it was because Dean had demanded Gabriel explain what was going on, and even with Dean having nearly forgotten about it, it weighed heavy on Gabriel’s mind. So he ran his hands through Gabriel’s hair and held him gently until he felt Gabriel relaxing once more.

Sam easily fell back asleep, but even as he relaxed against his mate’s chest, Gabriel lay awake, staring into the darkness. Something was looming over them, and it seemed only he could feel it. All the things he’d feared for so long were coming to pass, and he couldn’t put it off any longer. He thought of Castiel, lying happily next to the man he loved, with a child no less, and how he was going to tear this fragile life they’d created apart.

Maybe that was why he hesitated, Gabriel tried to tell himself. He didn’t want to take Castiel away from the happiness he’d finally found, but the truth was far worse.

The only reason he’d spent the past six months playing honeymoon and house with Sam was because he was absolutely terrified, terrified of Michael. He’d never been so grateful and free as he was when he learned that Michael had fallen into the Cage with Lucifer. He knew no one would understand, and he felt worse for it when Sam had a nightmare or flashback to his time in the Cage, but Gabriel would forgive Lucifer long before Michael.

Something thudded downstairs and Gabriel lifted his head from Sam’s chest, listening. He thought he heard Dean say something but they were on the third floor and the walls were thick. Minutes later, though, there was no doubt Dean was calling.

“Gabriel! Gabriel, I need help!”

Even Sam woke then, staring at Gabriel blearily before Gabriel zapped himself onto the front porch, staring as Dean carried a half-frozen Castiel up the steps. A trail of angelic blue dust snaked off into the snow behind him, and when Dean stopped, looking down to meet Gabriel’s worried gaze, several feathers broke off from Castiel’s wings and fluttered to the ground.

Dean looked terrified, and Gabriel couldn’t look away. This was it. It was happening. _Oh Cas, my brother, what will you become?_

“Gabriel…” Dean gasped. “His feathers…they didn’t even do this with the poison. Tell me…tell me he’s not…”

Gabriel wrenched himself away from Dean’s woeful eyes and laid a hand on Castiel’s forehead, pushing his Grace into Castiel’s body, warming him from where his Grace was damaged and incapable of healing his vessel. The last time he’d done this, Castiel had screamed in agony from the power he’d pushed inside him. Now Castiel didn’t even open his eyes, limp in Dean’s arms. Gabriel nodded to himself and heard Dean’s hitch of breath. He flinched and hurried to correct Dean’s assumption.

“No, Dean, he’s not dying. He’ll be fine.”

Dean let out a slow sigh and shifted Castiel in his arms. Castiel’s breathing was steadying out now that he was warm, and Gabriel stepped aside so Dean could carry him inside. They got inside just as Sam reached the first floor, and Sam followed them into the bedroom so Dean could lay Castiel on the bed.

“Gabriel, there’s something on his back,” Dean murmured, sounding like he too was in pain.

“Are you okay?” Gabriel asked and Dean nodded, his jaw clenched.

“I think it’s the bond, I can sorta feel what he’s feeling.”

Gabriel stared at him in surprise. “You can?”

“You mean, you can’t?” Dean glanced up as he pulled the blankets over Castiel, and Sam answered for him.

“No, we can sense emotions, maybe a thought or two, but nothing physical.”

 _Maybe a thought or two?_ Dean frowned, his brow furrowing as he looked between his brothers then turning his gaze back down to his shivering boyfriend.

“We actually, um, talk…using our thoughts.”

“You can communicate telepathically?” Sam exclaimed and Gabriel laughed, shaking his head.

“You certainly are something else, Dean. Now what’s this mark?”

Dean slipped an arm beneath Castiel’s shoulders, lifting him up so Gabriel could see the burns on Castiel’s back. Gabriel frowned and nodded slowly, running a hand through his hair.

“It’s a brand like mine, meant to suppress his Grace. It’ll be fine though.”

“How will it be fine!?” Dean shouted and Castiel stirred in his arms, laying a hand on his thigh.

“Dean,” Castiel whispered and Dean shifted so Castiel could lay against his chest, tucking his head under his chin and smoothing his hair.

“Easy, it’s okay,” He whispered, glaring at Gabriel. “Tell me how any of this is ‘fine.’”

Gabriel sighed and sank wearily onto the side of the bed, laying a hand on Castiel’s blanket covered knee.

“His feathers…he’s molting, Dean. It means he’s finally hitting puberty, coming into his wings.”

Dean broke into a grin, nearly laughing with relief. “So he’s just becoming a man?”

Gabriel didn’t share his mirth, but looked haggard all of a sudden. “No, he’s becoming much more than that.”

He ran a hand over his face as Dean’s smile faded, Sam coming around to sit next to him.

“I guess I can’t put it off any longer. I told you I’d tell you everything.”

“Yeah, you did, _six months ago_. Why haven’t you said anything sooner?” Dean snapped. “If you talked, would Castiel be hurt? Would someone have swooped in here and tried to brand him…”

“You don’t know what we’re dealing with!” Gabriel snapped.

“Yeah, cause you won’t tell us!” Dean countered and Sam got to his feet, holding his hands out between them.

“Hey!” Sam shouted. “We’re not doing this! Stop pointing fingers and just…let’s just face this together, okay!?”

“I agree with Sam.” Castiel murmured weakly.

Dean surrounded his now conscious mate, smoothing his hair back worriedly, and Gabriel reached out with his wings to connect with Castiel’s grace. Castiel met him with a tattered wing and smiled at his brother. In the silence that followed, Simon could be heard whuffing in the next room, and Castiel made as if to get up.

“I need to feed Simon.”

Dean tightened his arms around Castiel, and Sam lowered his hands, shaking his head and glaring first at Dean then Gabriel. “I’ll take care of Simon, you three…just chill until I get back.”

Gabriel sighed weakly, looking away from the couple on the bed before he followed Sam out of the bedroom. Dean shifted, trying to pull Castiel closer again, but he stopped when Castiel hissed in pain.

“Sorry,” he whispered hurriedly, rubbing his hands over Castiel’s arms, trying to soothe him. Their sheets were now covered in the blue dust of Castiel’s feathers, and Dean swallowed hard, trying not to panic. It was just where Castiel was becoming a big boy angel, he told himself, but Gabriel’s words haunted him.

_He’s becoming much more than that._

“Cas…” he whispered. “What happened?”

Castiel opened his eyes wearily and reached up to brush his thumb over Dean’s forehead. Dean relaxed and closed his eyes, letting Castiel’s grace in with the ease of practice.

_It was like fire, consuming and surrounding him, words that were not words invoking their power and entwining with his Grace. He felt their hands on him; it took five of them to pin him down and one to place the brand. No matter how hard they pushed, however, their grace could not overpower his and he felt fear creep in among those holding him down._

_“It is too late.” He heard them say, and he pushed with everything he had, striking out at them with the same words they used against him, and in a flash they were gone._

_His feathers fluttered around him, and he could still feel the burn of the half-finished brand on his back. He tried repeatedly to stand, but the pain was too much, and his arms gave out beneath him. He slid to the cold ground, feeling the first flakes of snow begin to alight on his skin._

_\--  
_

“Dean…” Castiel whispered suddenly, but he couldn’t stop the flow of images.

\--

_Blood rushed in his ears as he felt where the brand was cutting into his grace, but instead of breaking him, something was pouring through the cracks. The sudden realization that he’d been bound before, and the angels had broken his bindings when they tried to seal him again. Images he had no place or time for rolled into his head, and for a second, he could not differ between past, present, or future._

_He was standing before Gabriel, his brother, his friend, his mentor, and he spoke his first words.“Something is going to happen.”_

_He was standing before Michael, defiant, silent. He met the archangel’s gaze and saw fear in the other’s eyes._

_He was drawing his blade for the first time in the battle against the Nephilim, nauseous as he took his first life and not having a word to describe the feeling._

_He was drawing his blade for the first time without feeling sick as he used it to cut the chain around Dean Winchester’s soul, and pulling the human against his chest. He felt complete as he felt the human’s soul merge with his grace, safe._

_He was racing towards Bobby’s house even as he felt Dean’s life slipping from him, and he saw the windows of the room fill with holy light._

_He was lifting his head, insurmountable power filling and stretching his wings as they had always meant to be._

_He was being reborn._

_There was nothing but the irrefutable purpose with which he had been filled._

_“It’s not Simon I am talking about, Dean!” He was shouting, locked in his mate’s arms, watching desperation fill his eyes as he tried to salvage all that he had left of his life._

_He was relearning what it was like to love._

Castiel pulled back with a gasp, and Dean stared at him in wonder. “Cas, what was that? Those images…were those…memories?”

Castiel nodded his head minutely, letting it fall against Dean’s chest as if the sheer weight of his vessel was too much. He had rolled onto his side and Dean traced a hand over the burns in his back, recognizing now the half-closed symbols of Enochian.

“Memories…and foretellings…”

Dean swallowed hard. He didn’t want to think about some of the images he’d seen, but one stuck with him. The feeling of nausea that had spread through Castiel when he first fought, and the contrast with how he felt pulling Dean out of Hell. Like Castiel wasn’t meant for fighting, but rather for raising people from perdition. The last image stuck with him, the image of himself holding Castiel like he was losing him, and he swallowed the sudden apprehension. Dean brought himself back to the problem at hand, the angels that had fought to brand him and seal his grace.

“Cas…they were afraid of you.”

Castiel nodded, tracing small circles on Dean’s chest with his fingertips. As Dean watched, the burns began to fade, the marks of the brand that the angels had tried to engrave into Castiel’s vessel disappearing as if they never were. He heard the question in Castiel’s mind, and he echoed it.

_What am I?_

_What are you?_

* * *

Samael tapped her nails on the arm of the leather armchair he’d usurped from Raphael. The five angels before him were torn and bloody, ashen feathers trembling. The sixth angel she’d sent on the mission had to have been carried back and was now being treated for the multiple fissures in his grace.

“You failed me.” He snapped, snapping his wings in frustration and the angels flinched, each falling to one knee.

“We did as you asked,” The one known as Jehuviel answered for the others. “We used the spell, but we were not strong enough to penetrate Castiel’s grace. He has begun molting.”

Samael stood slowly, pacing around the room. If Castiel had begun molting, it would not be long before his true grace exposed itself. They had to act fast.

“If our numbers were not already so few, I would burn you.” She said simply. “Go and find healing.”

He folded his arms over his chest, frowning. The five angels were gone and she was alone once more, staring out over the ranks of angels waiting for orders. “Please be patient with me, Michael. I prepare for your return.”  

* * *

Sam quickly went to Simon’s room, finding the growing babe making the steady whuffing sounds that indicated his hunger. The babe never cried unless he was frightened, and with two parents as protective as Dean and Castiel, he was hardly ever scared. Sam greeted his nephew with a waving of his fingers and Simon squirmed happily. Dean still talked to Simon, even though the babe often made it clear he had no idea what his father was doing with his mouth. Sam settled for making weird faces that made Simon giggle.

Simon settled against his chest when Sam lifted him up, curling one hand in the brown locks that threatened to spill over his shoulders. Dean’s teasing about his hair had almost gotten unbearable, but Gabriel silenced him with a wink and a simple “I like Sam’s long hair. It’s fun to pull.”

Gabriel was waiting for him in the kitchen, looking lost, and the desperation in his eyes when Sam walked in was masked quickly but not quickly enough. Sam passed Simon into the archangel’s capable arms as he began making Simon’s breakfast. Gabriel was usually eager to make his nephew laugh, but this morning Simon fell silent the moment he was passed into Gabriel’s arms, picking up on his uncle’s foul mood.

“You know we wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.” Sam said softly and Gabriel shook his head.

“I’m not blaming anyone. You need to know. I just…don’t think any less of me, after this, okay?”

Sam smiled softly, taking Simon back so he could feed him. “Gabriel, I don’t know why you still think I’m going to leave you. Mates, remember?”

“You could change your mind.”

“No,” Sam shook his head. “I don’t think I can. I wouldn’t want to, anyway. There’s nothing in your past that’s going to change things between us.”

Gabriel smiled, obviously relieved, and then gestured to the way Simon was heartily eating his breakfast. “You’d make a good dad, Sam.”

Sam shrugged. “That’s not really on my to-do list right now. Maybe we could get a dog though.”

Gabriel laughed, unable to stop himself at the hopeful tone in Sam’s voice. “Yeah, kiddo, we can get a dog.”

* * *

Dean had wrapped himself around Castiel as if he could shield his mate from the truth Gabriel held over their heads. He was tired, as was Castiel, but adrenaline pumped through him. He had to hear Gabriel’s story, or he’d be signing himself up for a restless night of Hell-mares.

 “Hey,” Gabriel greeted them quietly from the door. “I made breakfast if you want to come eat.”

“Why?” Dean tried and failed to keep an edge of his voice. He felt guilty when Gabriel flinched, but couldn’t bring himself to apologize. Gabriel should’ve told them what was going on a long time ago. He’d watched too many things fall apart, their own lives torn into pieces, by what Gabriel was doing now.

“It’s a long story.” Gabriel continued, his shoulders curled inward and head ducked in shame. “I want everyone to be comfortable.”

Dean nodded after a moment and carried Castiel into the living room where Gabriel had set out their breakfast. Sam was seated in the armchair, leaving the couch for the couple, and Gabriel appeared among them a second later, dragging the matching armchair from beside the fireplace to the center of the room.

“I took Simon to Bobby’s. I don’t want to be interrupted.”

Gabriel took his seat as Dean grabbed his plate, eating as Castiel leaned against him. The burns had nearly completely faded now, but their passage revealed elegant black lines spreading their way across Castiel’s back. Sam ignored his own plate, frustrated by the distance Gabriel had placed between them. Gabriel smiled at him apologetically.

“What’s wrong with Cas?” Dean prompted after a few minutes of silence passed and Gabriel ran a hand through his hair.

“To tell you what’s wrong with Cas, I’d have to tell you about Michael, and to tell you about Michael, I have to tell you about me. I want to get through this as fast as I can, so please just…just bear with me.”

So focused was everyone on Gabriel that no one noticed Crowley tucking himself around the corner by the kitchen, sent by Bobby to hear the story first hand.

Dean set his plate down, shifting so Castiel could lean against his chest once more.

“Alright.” Dean agreed to Gabriel’s silent request and Sam folded his hands in his lap. “Shoot.”

Gabriel looked to each of them in turn before ducking his head. “Okay.”

 “The first thing you need to know is that while there can be an infinite number of angels in Heaven, there’s only a certain number of archangels. Unlike cherubim, who work in a militaristic detail of rank and promotion, you must be born an archangel. So when an archangel dies or is cast out, a new archangel is born to take its place.”

“So when Lucifer…” Sam started and Gabriel nodded, cutting him off.

“Sam…”

“Sorry…”

Gabriel took a breath, continuing. “Lucifer was the first angel to fall, and when he fell, a new archangel was born to take his place. However, as a newborn, this fledgling was far too young to bear the incredible power that archangels wield, so Lucifer’s power was divided among the remaining archangels. Now, even within the seraphim, there is rank and division of power. There are Messengers, Warriors, and Keepers. I led the Messengers, Raphael led the Warriors, and Lucifer led the Keepers. Michael took orders only from Dad himself, and directed the rest of us. Each division had its own job. Messengers heralded the work of God, Warriors carried it out, and Keepers restored the balance afterward. Now, after Lucifer was forced into the Cage, Michael called a meeting of the three remaining captains: myself, Raphael, and Michael himself. You see, there were these prophecies that Enoch himself wrote down. Prophecies concerning God and the angels, and Dad didn’t want the cherubim to know about them, so he had Michael translate them into Heaven’s own language and hid them away. They needed to be kept secret because they predicted God’s own fall.”

“Wait, Enoch predicted God was going to bail?” Dean interjected and Gabriel nodded, pinching the bridge of his nose as his brow furrowed, trying to remember.

“This is going to be a really rough translation but here goes. ‘When the first angel falls, He Who Is will be broken. When the firstborn falls, His Kingdom will fall into chaos. When the God of Man walks the earth unknown, the Great…or First, or something…the Great Seraph will rise in fire and passion. In blood and destruction…or doubt…will the Seraph be broken. In unconditional devotion will the Seraph be reforged. Only when the Last Nephilim and the Great Seraph stand together will all end in balance.”

“So the first part…that’s Lucifer, right?” Dean started, earning a glare from his brother but he waved it away. If this prophecy was about Cas, then he was going to break it down and see where it led. “And the firstborn…that’s Michael. So something happened to Michael and…what’s a seraph?”

“A higher caste of angel.” Gabriel explained. “Anael, Balthazar…most of the angels you met were cherubim. Archangels are considering seraphim.”

“So this Great Seraph…” Dean continued. “…is some big BAMF archangel?”

“More or less.”

Silence fell in the room and Castiel spoke for the first time since Gabriel had started. His quiet voice filled the room, his focus entirely on Gabriel.

“The Nephilim were destroyed. Michael declared them an unholy abomination and initiated the Purge. I remember, for that was when I was assigned to the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah.”

Gabriel nodded, his eyes suddenly wet with tears. “That…that brings me to the next part of my story: the Purge and the truth behind it. You’re right, Michael declared that Nephilim were evil and ordered that they all be destroyed, but it was all for his own means. You see, Michael got a little bit more power than the rest of us when Lucifer’s Grace was divided up. Something about that little bit of an edge, coupled with Dad becoming more and more reclusive, began driving Michael mad. He wanted more power, and he could only achieve that by killing or casting out other archangels. Dad would leave for extended vacations, and Michael would enact laws while he was gone that allowed him to further his ambitions. I saw what he was doing, but what could I do to stop him? I tried to keep my subordinates out of his way, putting them on observation missions to keep them out of Heaven, but Michael was good at what he did, and his orders overrode mine. I remember the day he called us all together to announce his new law against the Nephilim. Looking around, I realized just how few of us were left, and how basically fucked we were.”

“Back then, cherubim and seraphim walked freely among humanity. It was God’s wish and command. We were to protect and guide humanity as he instructed, and it wasn’t all that surprising that a few angels explored human sexuality, especially my troops, the Messengers, because we were expected to connect with humans and understand them. Only the Keepers were more empathetic, and Keepers had a tendency to stay in Heaven and watch until they were needed. My point is, there were many Nephilim.”

“And by Nephilim,” Dean clarified. “You mean half-human, half-angel hybrids, right?”

Sam blinked in surprised, turning to look at his brother. “How did you know that?”

“I read the Bible, Sam,” Dean retorted, rolling his eyes. “Back when I first found out we had angels wanting to jump and ride our asses. Figured it couldn’t hurt anything. There was some line about the Sons of God lying with the daughters of men and, yeah, I know what Nephilim are. Stop looking so surprised.”

Gabriel smiled before nodding to Dean.

“Yes, Dean, I’m talking about angel/human hybrids. I had a daughter myself. Her mother named her…um, something that started with an ‘m,’ but I never called her that and she never answered to it. I named her Ariel, and she was my light.”

“Like the mermaid?” Dean scoffed and Gabriel glared at him. “No, Dean, not like the mermaid. This was fifteen centuries before Walt Disney even crawled out of his mother’s womb.”

He sighed, shaking his head, and Sam had to fight the urge to go to his side.

“When Michael spoke that law into existence, I knew it was for me. Yes, it served the purpose of destroying the Nephilim, the last of which was prophesied to stand with the Great Seraph against imbalance, all of which Michael saw as a threat, but it was for me. Michael personally descended to Earth and he killed Ariel, and every single one of Ariel’s human family. I arrived at their villa seconds too late. I carried her body with me for days, pushing my Grace into her, trying to make her live again.”

Gabriel broke off, covering his face in his hands as trembling sobs tore through him. Sam couldn’t hold himself back, going to his mate’s side and sliding an arm around his shoulders.

Behind the wall, Crowley ducked his head, his hands clenched at his sides.

When Gabriel recovered enough to continue, Sam sat on the floor next to him, their hands entwined, and Dean felt a deep ache in his chest. He couldn’t imagine if he lost Simon, or what he would do to the thing that took him from them. His heart went out to Gabriel when the archangel straightened up, his face stoic and determined.

“The widespread genocide of the Nephilim came to be known as the Purge. Whole cities were wiped out, sometimes whole tribes of people, and all because Michael wanted to secure his position on Heaven’s throne. After that, Michael declared that angels were forbidden to walk the earth to prevent further Nephilim from being born. Messengers always descended in pairs, and even that was extremely rarely. By this time, God and Michael had their war, and the firstborn had fallen. I remember seeing Dad when he came down to Earth, and I watched him take a vessel. He touched my shoulder, and said softly that he would see me again. I haven’t heard from him since, and the secret war in Heaven went on. I couldn’t go back to Heaven after what Michael did, but I tried my best to show others what he was doing. No one knew of the prophecies but me, Michael, and Raphael though, so no one believed Michael could be capable of such a thing. I grew further and further away from Heaven, until one day a very good friend of mine called me for help. He’d been poisoned, the same poison that infected you, Castiel, over a year ago. It was Samael, and she’d been caught in bed with a young Roman noblewoman. I figured out how to heal him, just as I healed you, and Samael returned to Heaven. What Samael didn’t know, what no one knew, was that the Roman noblewoman was pregnant, the first and only Nephilim born after the Purge.”

“They gave me the child without hesitation, and I went through every effort to hide myself and the child from Michael. I took a new vessel; I carved into my own grace a series of concealments, and concealments on the child. I vanished from Heaven’s eye, and took the Nephilim as my son. I named him Malachi. For years, we hid from Heaven. I believed in the prophecy, that the Great Seraph and my son would rise to conquer Michael, so I told him of his home in Heaven and taught him to use his grace.”

“What happened?” Sam asked quietly and Gabriel squeezed his hand.

“Michael found us. He’d apparently been searching for me since I dropped off the grid, and this time he wasn’t willing to let me go so easily. I fought him for Malachi, and in the end he branded me, sealing my Grace. I watched him murder Malachi, and then he left.”

Gabriel drew a shaky breath. “Losing Malachi ended me. I gave up. I stopped fighting, or caring. I didn’t care if Michael knew where I was, and I hid myself among the pagan gods and goddesses. I became the Trickster. You know the rest.”

Crowley grit his teeth, anger pulsing through him, coupled with sorrow and anguish. He forced himself to stay and listen. He had to listen to it all.

“So…everything…all this time, Michael’s been trying to ‘86’ this prophecy and set himself up as king of the hill?” Dean snapped, frustrated. “If he killed Lucifer, he would’ve just been giving himself another steroid boost, and then what?”

“Michael has one more obstacle in his way.” Gabriel explained softly, his gaze falling to his brother. “When Enoch wrote the prophecies, he described what we called the Great Seraph as a leader of archangels, the most powerful of them all, who would serve the Balance between Good and Evil. I used to suspect from my time spent with him, but now I’m absolutely certain. The Great Seraph is the fledgling that was born to take Lucifer’s place.”

Castiel met Gabriel’s gaze, and he saw regret and resolution in his elder brother’s eyes. Castiel suddenly, desperately, sought out Dean’s hand, gripping his mate’s fingers as if holding onto his very life. Dean looked up at Gabriel, and suddenly knew what he was going to say.

“Castiel,” Gabriel started slowly. “That fledgling is you.”

 

 


	3. The Fledgling

Gabriel was certain that it shouldn’t have fallen to him to watch the new fledgling.  He felt it should’ve been another Keeper to take the fledgling from his new parents, but Michael felt that all should be done in the correct order. A Messenger would arrive to take the babe, a Warrior would not be needed, and then a Keeper would arrive to make amends.

“I see you, Hadrian. I see you, Aniel.”

“I see you, Gabriel. Be welcome.” Hadrian greeted him formally, but Aniel simply smiled warmly. He could see how tired she was, her Grace only now beginning to heal itself after the birth of her fledgling.

“Be welcome,” She said after a moment. “What message does our Father send to incite a visit from our High One?”

“Our Father has spoken,” Gabriel stated slowly, sad that he would have to rip this family apart. “Your son has been born a seraph, and is called forth to join his brethren in the Garden.”

Neither parent flinched at his words; Gabriel felt a sick twist in his stomach at their blind obedience. There was a slight hesitation in Aniel’s eyes as she cradled her son close, a hesitation that would one day lead to doubt and disobedience and she would carve her Grace from her body and become human. Today, however, she handed over her son to his waiting arms.

“His Will be done.”

“His Will be done.” Her mate echoed, and Gabriel looked down at the tiny archangel in his arms.

The fledgling was all limbs and wings, bright white feathers curling around his body, still wet and new. He had short threads of dark hair and the bluest eyes he believed he’d ever seen.

“His name is Castiel.” Hadrian offered, and Gabriel nodded in affirmation. The fledgling wrapped a hand around his, calm and observant.

“His name will be known.” Gabriel offered the angels as a small consolation, and then he turned away from them. He wanted to look back, but that would betray his doubt.

The fledgling looked up at him as if he understood, and Gabriel remembered why he didn’t like Keepers. Out of sight of the fledgling’s parents, Gabriel lifted him up and held him out at arm’s length.

“So you’re going to be the new Keeper?”

Castiel tilted his head, looking at him with curious blue eyes. Gabriel mimicked him, tilting his head, and then Castiel flared his new wings and vanished.

“Leaf and star!” Gabriel cursed, spinning around, his wings flaring. “Castiel!”

\--

_Gabriel_

His name in the ancient tongue was a wisp of light and music on the fledgling’s tongue. Castiel was old enough now to speak Enochian, but he rarely did, when he spoke at all. He had once explained that he preferred the lilting strains of their birth language to the harsh commands of Enochian. He likened the difference to that of a harp versus a trumpet.

Gabriel had commented that Michael announced their father’s commands with trumpets, and Castiel had smiled.

_Precisely_

“Right,” Gabriel laughed, ruffling the fledgling’s hair. “So you don’t like commands? You’re going to make one hell of an angel, kid.”

Castiel smiled. _I do not like following foolish orders_

“How do you decide what’s foolish and not? You don’t get to choose, that’s not in our cards. Rebellion leads to…”

_To fall?_

Castiel’s smile was not innocent or naïve, and Gabriel felt a sudden chill in his gut. Just as sudden as it was there, it was gone, and Castiel threaded their hands together, tugging him towards the growing rainclouds.

_I want to watch the rain form_

\--

_Humans are fascinating creatures_

Gabriel shrugged, sitting next to Castiel. Silver grass whirled around them, caught up in a silent wind, and the teenage archangel lounged on his stomach, his wings stretched out wide around him. He peered down at the Earth, watching the creatures their Father had created with love and adoration. Castiel’s great white wings brushed over his legs and Gabriel automatically raised a hand to thread through the iridescent feathers. Castiel purred, and stretched a wing across his lap. Gabriel couldn’t help but smile. Castiel’s wings were the brightest he’d ever seen and certainly didn’t need grooming, but he couldn’t deny the fledgling anything.

“What were you saying about humans?”

_They are fascinating look at all the little things they do to find happiness every human wants to be happy_

“That’s not fascinating, that’s normal.” Gabriel murmured off-hand, focused on the soft new down on Castiel’s wings. He wasn’t actually still growing, was he? His wings were already twice as big as a cherub’s, and Michael always had a strange look for Castiel. If he didn’t know better, Gabriel would say he looked threatened.

_What is fascinating are the humans that do not pursue happiness but sacrifice their own peace for the sake of another and their peace these humans should have someone to watch over them in return they should be saved_

Gabriel laughed, flicking the back of Castiel’ s head and Castiel yelped, twisting in his arms and for a moment they wrestled across the silver grass. Gabriel won since Castiel’s wings were still ungainly and clumsy, despite their brilliance, and Castiel pouted up at him.

“You be their savior, then.” Gabriel teased him and Castiel darted up to peck his lips.

Gabriel sat stunned until Castiel wormed out from under him and ran off, laughing. Gabriel chased him down, his hands going to the fledgling’s ticklish sides.

\--

They weren’t mates. Gabriel knew this, and he’d known it for a while. Almost everyone wanted to touch the fledgling’s bright wings, and Gabriel himself had slipped up while trying to protect him.

They weren’t mates, but they were everything Gabriel imagined having a mate would be like. He could spend days listening to Castiel describe the markings on a monarch butterfly, and Castiel was the perfect listener when Gabriel talked about how he had to talk Joseph into staying with Mary, or how Samael thought it was funny to make himself appear like a bunch of wheels to the prophet of the week. Sometimes he would rest his head in Castiel’s lap, and Castiel would groom his wings, so focused and content as if Gabriel and his wings were all that mattered in the world.

Gabriel wrote it off because sometimes (rarely) Messengers and Keepers just connected like this. They were both made to feel empathetic towards humans, and Castiel cast everyone else away. He was all Castiel had in the world, and Castiel liked it that way. He saw no reason to engage with the other angels, and Gabriel was oddly content with that. He lay his head in Castiel’s lap now, stretching out his wings, and Castiel ran his hands through the long feathers at the first joint.

“Castiel,” he murmured tiredly and Castiel continued his slow worship of Gabriel’s wings. Gabriel drifted in and out under his ministrations and wondered if this was what it was like to sleep. For a moment, Gabriel let himself believe that this was all there was in the world.

\--

“I will be reassigning Castiel following tomorrow’s announcement.”

Gabriel stared at Michael in shock. “You…you can’t do that.”

“It is my duty to make certain that our Father’s work is carried out fully. I have seen Castiel’s abilities in training, and it is my firm belief that his talents would be better suited as a warrior.”

“What is he going to do then? Replace Raphael? You forget he’s an archangel! He’s supposed to take Lucifer’s place and lead the Keepers. Michael, he’s a savior, not a warrior!”

Michael’s response was dark. “Precisely.”

\--

“Something is going to happen.”

Castiel’s first words of Enochian were ominous. Gabriel found him once again watching Earth, but his eyes were dark and stormy. Gabriel slid his arms around Castiel, feeling the fledgling’s wings against his chest, and wishing that they fit his own. He loved Castiel, more than his other brothers, and Castiel turned in his arms.

“Gabriel,”

Castiel’s tone sparked something in Gabriel, and suddenly Gabriel didn’t want to hear what Castiel was going to say. He grabbed at Castiel, pulling him against his chest, holding him tightly. He wrapped his hands in Castiel’s huge white wings, pinching the feathers no doubt, and a couple came off in his hands, but Castiel did not complain. In fact, his voice never wavered.

“You are going to be alone, Gabriel. You are going to lose everything. You are going to break, because I must be broken.”

Gabriel shook his head, crushing his lips against Castiel’s, tangling his hands in his brother’s hair and wings. However, a far cry from the playful fledgling he’d practically raised on his own, Castiel stood stiffly against him, immovable. For a moment, for one terrible moment, Castiel’s gaze softened and Castiel leaned forward to just brush their lips together, then he was pulling away.

“It’s going to be okay, Gabriel. It will all be okay.”

The trumpets sounded behind him, and Gabriel knew the troops were massing to wage war against the Nephilim. He did not go to join them. He had to try and save his Ariel.

Castiel watched Gabriel go, but he did not join the troops either. Instead he turned away from the Host and climbed to the Garden where Michael was waiting for him. Michael’s gaze held no warmth when he looked upon the fledgling, and Castiel met him stare for stare. Michael wavered for a moment, and Castiel prompted him calmly.

“I see you, Michael.”

Michael jerked as if struck, automatically responding. “I see you, Castiel. Be welcome.”

Michael seemed to gather himself then as Castiel smiled knowingly. “Castiel, I do reassign you to report to Raphael and join the ranks of the cherubim in battle.”

Castiel did not respond, simply continued to smile. Michael raised his hand, lifting two fingers to the fledgling’s forehead. In the millisecond before their grace connected, and his overpowered the fledgling’s, Castiel spoke and his words chilled Michael through.

“His Will be done.”

Michael’s grace seared through the fledgling’s, binding his grace and memories, turning what would’ve grown into powerful archangel into a naïve cherub with too big wings.

It didn’t matter, in the end, because Gabriel did not return. Raphael did not care for the new fledgling under his command, so there was no one who would’ve told young Castiel the truth. Castiel himself didn’t change much after Michael altered him. He was still the quiet, observant angel, often seeking solitude. He was too kind, too trusting to be a warrior, but he fought well and earned the respect of his brothers and sisters. He even came to lead his own garrison.

Michael watched as Castiel’s true nature kept him from falling into the same wrathful state as his peers. Where his brothers took pride in enacting their Father’s work, Castiel mourned for the lost and innocent souls of humanity. The centuries passed and Castiel shattered a little more with each life lost. The raising of his blade became more mechanical and less resolute. He rarely spoke with the harmonious song of his youth, his voice becoming hard and clipped as he commanded his garrison against the seed of Lucifer. Michael felt a surge of pride, watching as his greatest enemy became consumed with darkness and despair.

“You will not rule me.” He whispered to the silence.

His last strike against Castiel was a genius one, he thought. He would send Castiel in a hopeless mission to Hell. His goal was to pull Dean Winchester from the Pit before he took up blade against his own kind, but they would never reach him in time. Give the savior something to save, watch him fail, and he would break.

For the first time in his long crusade to claim Heaven’s crown for himself, Michael made a mistake.

\--

The fires of Hell raged around them, and demons were quick to either run from the avenging angels or press onward.

“The battle is lost, Castiel. He has taken up the knife.”

Castiel heard Uriel’s words but he did not stir. After a long pause, he turned and addressed his garrison.

“You may return to the Host. I will remain here.”

The others took his order and spread their wings, leaving him behind, but Balthazar remained, stepping closer and stretching out a wing to him.

“Castiel, the mission is lost.”

“The mission may be lost,” Castiel said firmly, sliding his wing over his brother’s. “But Dean Winchester is not.”

“Cassie…”

Castiel turned towards him, suddenly angry, and Balthazar blinked in surprise. This was more than His Wrath. This was Castiel’s own anger, anger Castiel wasn’t supposed to be able to feel.

“Balthazar, every moment since my birthing I have taken life in His name. Saint and sinner, I have taken them. For once in my life, I want to _save_ someone.”

Balthazar stepped forward, brushing their lips together. “After you, then.”

Castiel nodded and they spread their wings once more, laying siege to the mass of demons that stood between them and Dean Winchester. Balthazar felt his heart stop when he was separated from Castiel, but then he spotted him, pushing his way through. Castiel’s face was hard, set and determined.

For the first time, Castiel wielded his blade proudly, cutting through the creatures of filth and evil. He couldn’t see anything beyond the flash of his blade but suddenly his wings flared, a spark of recognition pushing through him, and he saw the light of Dean Winchester’s soul. The demons ran from his too-bright wings and he stepped forward, slashing the chains from around the human’s soul. Dean Winchester faltered and Castiel caught him, astonished at how easily his wings wrapped around the strange human.

_Don’t take me. Take them. Take them._

“Shh,” Castiel breathed, his grace wrapping around the human’s torn soul. He had never seen a soul so beautiful and yet so pained. “You are safe now.”

Dean Winchester struggled in his arms briefly before falling still and allowed himself to be carried away from the rack. Balthazar rejoined them and carved a path out of Hell as Castiel carried Dean Winchester back to Earth.

On Earth’s plane once more, Balthazar watched as Castiel lifted his head to the sunlight and laughed for the first time. His voice rose in the elegant song of the angels’ ancient tongue, whirling around the human’s name as if it were made to be spoken thus.

_Dean Winchester is saved._

Balthazar frowned, looking at Castiel’s wings. They were singed, dark with ash and brimstone, but as he watched, Castiel’s grace poured through them, wiping away all marks of Hell. His own wings felt almost too heavy to carry, weighed down by his own scars. Castiel seemed barely winded, caressing the human’s soul as if it were a precious thing, not the instrument of their destruction.

“Saved, he is saved.” Castiel gasped aloud, grinning fit to burst. He clutched the human soul tightly to him, stretching his once again white wings, and offering a hand to Balthazar. Balthazar took his slowly, tucking his wing under Castiel’s. Castiel looked at him sympathetically.

“Are you able to return to the Host?”

“I’ll make it,” Balthazar said with a roll of his shoulders. “Go ahead and take your new boy toy back to his body.”

Castiel looked confused, but Balthazar just playfully clipped his wing and took off.

Castiel carried Dean Winchester back to his body, slipping through the earth the half-decayed corpse. Dean Winchester’s soul thrummed in time with his grace as if it belonged there and Castiel didn’t have the heart to say he didn’t. It felt right, Dean Winchester nestled there in his grace and Castiel couldn’t help but wrap a wing around himself, as if comforting the torn soul inside him. His fingers flitted over the corpse, muscle and sinew renewing itself at his touch. He came to know each dip and curve of Dean Winchester’s body, every line of muscle and synapse of nerve fiber. At long last, he laid his hand over Dean Winchester’s shoulder and leaned down, exhaling over the man’s face.

Dean Winchester’s soul flowed from his body, through his hands and through his lips, and into the body he had created for his use. The final pull caught Castiel off guard, because it hurt _._ Dean Winchester’s soul didn’t slow its descent, but it caught a piece of Castiel’s grace and _ripped._ Castiel whimpered, but his grace parted and that lone spark disappeared with Dean, falling in and binding with his soul. When Castiel pulled his hand away, a smoking red mark lay over Dean’s shoulder and Castiel looked down at the human marked as his mate with terrified confusion.

“Dean?” he whispered and Dean Winchester gasped for air at his touch. Castiel fled from those searching eyes before they could spot him, seeking a vessel.

Leaving Dean was the hardest thing Castiel had ever done, but the new sensations rippling through his grace were strange. They frightened him. There was a burning in his back as well as the new emotions, the new bond with this human. His grace throbbed from where it had torn beneath Dean’s soul, but even still, his voice was steady when he sought out Jimmy Novak. He had to appear calm to gain his vessel’s trust, but there was so much turmoil in his mind. He was in so much pain; pain he didn’t even know could exist for him. He had to get back to Dean. He had to, it hurt to stay away.

Being close hurt Dean though. He couldn’t bear to hurt Dean and fled again.

He had never known pain like this. Being away from Dean was a constant ache in the depths of his grace, but he had his mission to complete. Jimmy Novak accepted him, but Dean did not. Dean saw him as an enemy, and Castiel did not understand why Dean did not feel their bond as he did. Castiel swallowed the pain, and performed as best as he could under the circumstances.

\--

“You took _him_ as your mate!?” Balthazar shouted and Castiel flinched under his best friend’s indignant tone.

“It wasn’t a choice, Balthazar.” Castiel said softly, his hands clenched at his sides. Balthazar’s wings were flared, angry, and he paced furiously. Uriel was smirking, and Castiel fought the urge to glare at him. The other members of the garrison were quiet, though Rachel looked stricken.

Balthazar ran a hand over his face, and sighed, preening until his feathers calmed down again. Castiel stood almost limply until Balthazar nodded.

“Well, we better make sure the Righteous Man stays on his path.”

Castiel would’ve smiled if he hadn’t been so worried.

\--

It took a fierce effort to remain distant from Dean. Dean wanted to follow his own path, and Castiel forced himself to allow it. It was his Father’s will that humans would be allowed to choose, after all. It was hard, harder than he ever expected it to be, to distant himself from Dean.

He wasn’t surprised when he was ripped out of his vessel and passed over to the Guides for re-assimilation. His loyalties had changed. It would’ve terrified him if he hadn’t been so sure of himself. The Guides were good at what they did, however, and for a time, Castiel forgot his loyalty to Dean.

However, when Dean asked him to rebel, Castiel remembered the spark of his grace that was hidden within Dean’s soul. He remembered who his mate was, even if Dean was not willing to commit to such a bond with him. He would fight at his mate’s side, no matter what. He stopped letting himself dream of what a life with his mate would be like. He suppressed his love for Dean, only letting himself be a soldier.

Time moved so slowly for humans. It took several years for Dean to feel love for him, and they passed in centuries for Castiel.

Castiel woke one morning, sunlight streaming through the windows of the house he shared with Dean, his grace thrumming happily at the proximity of his mate. He could hear Simon waking the far room, but he stayed by Dean’s side for a little while longer. Dean never slept long after he got up; he stayed so Dean could have those few extra minutes.  He closed his eyes and drew in the soft scent of motor oil and leather that never quite left Dean’s skin, but now it was mixed with light and wind, his own scent.

Dean raised a hand, threading his fingers through Castiel’s hair, and Castiel sighed happily.

He would do it all again, suffer through it all again, if it led him back to this moment.

* * *

**Now**

* * *

Sam was frozen where he sat next to Gabriel. Castiel was…an archangel? How could that be possible? Then again, it sort of made sense. All that Castiel was able to do. Anna had to tear out her grace and be reborn as a human to live on Earth. Castiel had simply walked away. The only other angel they knew who’d done that was Gabriel. Even Balthazar had to fake his death to escape.

Castiel had simply said ‘No.’ and walked away.

Glancing over at Dean, Sam could see the same thoughts going through his head.

Castiel stared at Gabriel, his features wide and slack with shock. He did not speak, not at first, but Dean was quick to fill the silence.

“You mean to say Cas is the big BAMF archangel in the prophecy?”

Gabriel nodded slowly, his eyes still locked with Castiel’s. Castiel was suddenly on his feet, and Dean stared up at him in surprise as his boyfriend began to pace.

“Cas, babe, are you…”

“This isn’t possible.” Castiel stopped suddenly, turning to face Gabriel who had also gotten to his feet. Gabriel looked up at him almost sympathetically.

“Castiel, you’ve done things no other angel can do. You were able to defy orders, to walk away from Heaven and Michael. You fought through Hell and brought Dean out unscathed. You took on _every soul in Purgatory._ A cherub would _explode_ with that much power inside them.”

Castiel shook his head. “Raphael was easily able to best me. I fell, I was human.”

“You were bound.” Gabriel explained easily. “Michael had to control you, and he did that by binding your grace and altering your memories.”

Castiel frowned. “I remember the garrison. I remember Rachel and Balthazar and Aniel…”

Gabriel smiled at him sympathetically. “You don’t remember me.”

Dean watched as the lines on Castiel’s bare back continued to spread, flashing back suddenly to the morning in the panic room when he’d spotted strange freckles on Castiel’s back. As he watched, they began to curve, arching around Castiel’s wings and forming a strange symbol.

Gabriel was walking towards Castiel, slowly stretching out a hand to him. Castiel suddenly retreated away from him and Dean caught the flash of heartbreak in Gabriel’s eyes, but it wasn’t rejection or revulsion that drove Castiel back. It was fear.

Just as Dean got to his feet and closed the space between himself and his mate, the mark on Castiel’s back completed itself and a burst of light broke through from his wings. Sam ducked down, shielding his eyes and even Gabriel had to look away.

When the room darkened once again, Castiel and Dean were gone.

Gabriel turned from the spot where his brother had once stood and started to sit down. Sam caught him, however, and sat down himself before pulling Gabriel into his lap.

“Still love me?” Gabriel asked weakly as he fit himself against Sam’s chest, his voice choked with tears.

“Always,” Sam murmured into his hair.

* * *

The panic room had once again been converted into a fully functional toddler pen and Bobby had Crowley move one of his preferred armchairs down there as well. That’s where he was sitting now, drinking iced tea with Simon in his lap, the toddler exploring his face while he read Castiel’s translation of a book of angelic lore.

He felt odd smiling so broadly, but he’d read that deaf children learned best through bright facial expressions. True to its word, Simon grinned broadly and laughed, flopping in his lap and Bobby’s gaze softened, tickling his grandson before lifting him to his chest and standing.

“I think it’s getting time for your lunch,” Bobby murmured, miming eating and Simon clapped his hands.

When he got to the kitchen, Crowley was sitting at the table, nursing a bottle of Scotch.

“How long have you been here?” Bobby asked, facing away from the King of Hell while he fixed Simon’s lunch.

“Not long,” Crowley murmured, swirling the bottle lightly, not bothering with a glass.  Bobby frowned, setting Simon in the high chair he wouldn’t admit to having so he could sit across from Crowley, tugging the bottle out of his hands. The last time he’d seen Crowley like this had been right after he and Sam tried to bring Dean and Castiel back from Purgatory.

“What happened?” Bobby asked softly. “What did Gabriel say?”

Crowley folded his hands in front of his face. “Castiel is an archangel.”

Bobby nodded slowly. “That’s not why you’re upset.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t see it. I was such a child.”

Bobby reached over, tugging Crowley’s folded hands down and covering them with his own.

“Talk to me,” Bobby prompted. “You want me to trust you, well, it goes both ways.”

Crowley took a deep breath and smiled brokenly up at him. Bobby felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight of tears in the monarch’s eyes.

“To tell you everything would take years, love.”

Bobby smiled, jumping when Simon pushed his bowl off the high chair and clapped his hands together. He squeezed Crowley’s hands before getting up to pick up the discarded bowl and clean up the mess Simon had made. Crowley snapped his fingers, cleaning the wayward toddler and his mess all at once. Bobby laughed, picking Simon up and setting him in his lap as he sat back down.

“Ain’t gonna get through it if you don’t start talking.”

Crowley looked at him fondly, shaking his head. “You might want to get a beer.”

* * *

Dean felt Castiel’s wings beating down against him and then a sudden blast of cold caught him off guard. He was suddenly knee deep in snow then Castiel shoved his wings downward, blasting the snow away from them. Dean was instantly frozen in his light t-shirt and boxers, the wind whipping around them, and he could finally see they were actually on top of a mountain.

“Where the hell are we, Cas? Mount Everest?”

“Yes.”

Castiel was pacing, his wings stretching and thrashing and Dean felt his breath catch in his throat, some frigid combination of Castiel’s fear and the lack of oxygen in the air.

“Cas…” Dean protested, lunging forward to put himself in Castiel’s path. The ice broke through his bare feet, but Dean had more important things on his mind.

“Cas!” he tried again and this time Castiel stopped, turning around to face him. Only then did he seem to realize the pain the cold was causing Dean and stepped forward, wrapping Dean in his wings and Dean felt warmth flood through him.

“Cas, what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” Castiel laughed incredulously. “What part of this is right?!”

Dean could feel memories flooding through Castiel’s mind, the memories that Michael had altered and taken away from him, and it was all coupled with fear and frustration. Dean took a deep breath, trying to push calm back at Castiel, and felt his back twinge strangely.

“Hey, hey now,” Dean said softly, stepping forward and cupping Castiel’s face in his hands. Castiel’s memories of him, of fighting in Hell and pulling him free rose to the surface, and Dean felt a sharp pain in his chest as Castiel remembered his pain when Dean rejected him. Castiel had told him that it had hurt, but he hadn’t understood. Swallowing his own pain, Dean pressed soft kisses over Castiel’s lips and face until he felt his angel start to calm down.

“Hey, so you’re an archangel. It’s like thinking you’re Robin and then finding out you’re really Batman, so what’s the issue?”

Castiel laughed broken, shaking his head. “Do you remember what I told you about archangels?”

_Archangels are fierce. They’re absolute. They’re Heaven’s most terrifying weapon._

“Yeah, I remember,” Dean murmured darkly. He remembered how easily Michael killed Anna. He also remembered fighting Raphael and Michael and Lucifer, the intense power that radiated around them, like their vessels could barely even contain them, and how easily they, as humans, had been dismissed.

“That kind of power…” Castiel murmured, his voice choked and desperate. “That last time I wielded that kind of power…do you remember what it did to me? What I _became?_ ”

Dean saw what Death had referred to as a ‘mutated angel’ flashing before his eyes once more, the cool distance with which Castiel had regarded him, light years away from the angel he held in his arms at that moment.

“That was Purgatory, monster souls, Leviathan. They corrupted you. This is different.” Dean said gruffly, firmly. “Gabriel said this is what you were born to be. It won’t be the same, you were made for this.”

Castiel shook his head, tears filling his eyes. “I don’t want it. I don’t. I have everything I want: you, Simon, Sam, Gabriel…I don’t want to be an archangel. What if I lose you again? What if I forget what it is like to love you?”

“Your feathers are falling off, Cas, I don’t think you get much of a choice,” Dean said and knew instantly it was the wrong thing to say. Panic flooded Castiel’s eyes and Dean quickly wrapped his arms around Castiel’s waist. Dean thought of the moment earlier when Castiel was sharing with him what he’d scene, the image of himself holding to Castiel like he was losing him, and tightened his grip around Castiel’s waist.

“Whatever happens, we’re in this together, ok?” Dean said firmly. “I won’t leave you, not for anything. Mates, remember? You said there could be universes between us, and we would find each other.”

Castiel slowly relaxed against him, laying his arms over Dean’s shoulders. “Okay.”

Dean brushed their lips together, rubbing Castiel’s back soothingly. “It’s going to be okay, Cas. I promise.”


	4. Arms Race

Heaven was bright as it always was, a world of sun and light itself made brighter still by the beings of light and fire who inhabited it. If the human souls residing there could see Heaven as it truly was, they would not see a paradise. It was beautiful, no doubt, but beautiful as only a star could be, white hot power and breathless void.

Samael missed her home, missed the power and light with which her home filled her. She didn’t understand how any of her brothers and sisters could come to love this dark, dank place that their Father had created for humans. She was certain that after Michael rose and defeated Lucifer, they could share the beauty of their home with the human race and humanity would cry out with joy at the birth of light in their dark world.

Now, however, she stood with her hands wrapped around the gilded bowl. Light glimmered over the surface of the red liquid within, rippling as she spoke to her leader, her brother.

“As you wish, High One,” She answered calmly to his instructions.

* * *

The walls were coated in sulfur and the air was thick with screams and pleas for help. None of it reached the Cage, however, for there the only sound was that of Michael pacing back and forth. Lucifer sat across the cage from him, bored.

“So…he was a Nephilim. What’s the big deal?”

“You don’t remember the prophecies, do you?”

“Yeah, I remember.” Lucifer shrugged. “I haven’t thought much of them in a long time.”

“He is the last…the Last Nephilim.”

“What happened to all the others?”

“Father decreed that they were abominations and I led the Host in battle against them.”

Lucifer looked up, frowning. “That doesn’t sound like something Dad would do.”

Michael paused in his pacing, turning to face his brother once more. Away to one side, Adam instinctively flinched as the archangels faced one another again.

“What do you know of our Father? You destroyed everything! And yet…I could not have achieved what I have if you had not fallen…”

Lucifer’s brow furrowed in confusion; he shook his head, suddenly truly seeing his brother.

“Michael…Michael, what did you do?”

* * *

The house was quiet when Dean and Castiel returned, and Dean found a yellow note taped to the fridge door.

“’Gabriel and I are taking Simon out for ice cream. Call us when you get back.’” Dean read the note aloud for Castiel who was standing in the hallway, looking lost. Dean taped the note back to the fridge and walked to his side.

“Do you want me to wait to call them?”

Castiel nodded slowly. Every so often, he would start shaking again, and Dean felt horrible for the things Castiel was going through.

“None of this is your fault, Dean,” Castiel murmured and Dean shrugged.

“I know you know the concept of feeling bad because someone you love is feeling bad.”

Castiel smiled at him weakly and Dean took his hand, tugging him into the bathroom. It was another room that Dean had allowed himself to splurge on, the shower easily big enough for both of them. He got the hot water running, stripping himself and Castiel as steam filled the room. Dean tugged Castiel into the shower with him, the water scalding against his skin, but he positioned Castiel under the heated spray. He brushed his hands over Castiel’s shoulder blades and instantly Castiel’s wings materialized under his gaze. For the first time in a long time, they were a dull gray beneath his hands, trembling with Castiel’s breath. Castiel actually flinched when Dean ran his hands over the silken feathers, several coming off beneath his hands.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel whispered and Dean blinked in surprise.

“For what? Not getting a wing-rection from my naked body?” Dean teased. “Relax, it’s not your fault you feel like shit.”

Castiel mumbled something non-committal but surrendered himself to Dean’s attention. Dean directed the scalding water over Castiel’s wings, washing away the broken feathers and any others willing to come away.

“That feels nice,” Castiel murmured, letting his head rest against the shower wall. Dean frowned, watching the feathers falling away under his hands. Castiel’s wings shivered once when he touched bare skin.

“You okay, Cas?”

“My wings are sore,” Castiel explained. “The process causes odd and sometimes detrimental deviations in the way my grace is stored and utilized. In short, my grace is unstable.”

Dean nodded, slowly processing this information. “I have an idea. Stay.”

Dean stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist, and glanced back to see Castiel closing his eyes and letting the hot spray pour over him. Dean nodded and headed down into the cellar, gathering up the gallon jugs of holy water he kept there for practical purposes (specifically to keep them away from Gabriel who liked to flavor them. He was not going to end up taking down a demon with grape-flavored holy water.) He carried them back upstairs, content to find that Castiel had not moved and the shower was still pumping out hot water.

“Okay, let’s see how this works.”

He stepped back into the shower behind Cas, carrying a jug of holy water. It was cool from the cellar, but Castiel let out a sinful groan when Dean poured it over his wing. He was careful to guide the water with his hand down the slope of Castiel’s wings, and he was pleased when they gave a dim glow as the water passed.

“That feel good?” Dean asked and Castiel nodded quickly.

“Yes, it is quite relieving,” Castiel said softly, now fully leaning against the shower wall, his head resting just beneath the shower head so the water flowed down his back and over his wings.

Dean continued pouring holy water over every inch of Castiel’s wings, smoothing away the loose and broken feathers, glancing down to where they turned to dust at his feet. At the tip of Castiel’s right wing, Dean frowned, kneeling to get a better look.

“What’s wrong?” Castiel murmured as Dean cradled his wing against his knee.

There was a tiny split in the tip of Castiel’s wing, almost imperceptible beneath the haze of down but Dean could just feel it. He got a sudden image of the way Gabriel’s wings were split into three pairs, and lifted his head to meet Castiel’s curious gaze. Castiel followed his train of thought and nodded slowly, closing his eyes and looking away.

After the shower, Dean stretched Castiel out on his stomach and straddled his hips, spreading his hands out over Castiel’s sore wings. He pressed his hands into the strained muscles, smiling at the pleased and desperate sounds he got from Castiel. Castiel’s feathers had stopped falling out, though he’d lost a good portion of them. After a few minutes, Dean felt Castiel fold his wings away and Dean focused on massaging his back, the muscles there just as sore and tense as his wings had been.

“So, Cas…” Dean started and Castiel murmured something non-committal. Dean smiled, running his hands over the new mark on Castiel’s back.

“You once said, if I wanted…ah, hell…” Dean swallowed hard, biting his lip, before bending to kiss the skin between Castiel’s shoulder blades. He ran his hands over Castiel’s shoulders, kissing up to the nape of his neck and drinking in the smell of his own shampoo in Castiel’s hair. He had marked Castiel as his own in so many ways, and there was just one more way that he really wanted.

Castiel had said it didn’t matter, that they were already bound to each other, but Dean still didn’t like how women and men alike eyed Castiel when they went into town. Like it didn’t matter that Dean had his arm firmly around Castiel’s waist, or that Castiel paid them no mind whatsoever. Dean had to claim him once and for all.

His voice was muffled in Castiel’s hair, his hands trembling.

“You said, if I wanted to, all I had to do was ask.” Dean started again, albeit shakily. “Well, this is me asking, okay? I really…really want to…and…I know, it’s a human thing, but please, just…Cas?”

Dean lifted his head as he noticed Castiel’s breathing was just a hair too steady. “Cas?”

He then grinned, a wide smile splitting his face as he shook his head. “Son of a bitch, here I am trying to propose and you’re friggin’ asleep.”

Castiel’s answer was a soft snore and Dean sighed, kissing the back of Castiel’s head and slipping off the bed. He opened the top drawer of his dresser, pulling out the small manila envelope Gabriel had brought to him a couple months before, and tipped its contents into his hand.

In his hand rested a small, white gold band with three embedded diamonds.

For a while he’d honestly thought he would never see it again. He’d worn it for years, but sometime during the Apocalypse he’d lost it. He remembered beating himself up, knowing he couldn’t backtrack, not with everything that was on the line. Then his brother had gone and fallen in love with an archangel, someone who could search the entire world in minutes. It had once been stained by ash and fire, but Gabriel had done a stunning clean up job and it gleamed like new. Dean smiled at it, caressing the band with his fingertip, before silently going back to Castiel’s side. He carefully slid the band onto Castiel’s left ring finger, and kissed his temple.

“I love you, Cas,” Dean whispered. “No matter how many wings you have.”

* * *

If anyone was looking, they wouldn’t have seen them, the angels that marched from Heaven, legions of battle-worn soldiers and took up position around an unremarkable field in South Dakota. Miles between them, they were still connected by their humming grace, flaming swords held at rest, point down in the ground before them.

Samael herself stood waiting on a small outcrop of rock. Her blade held out at her side, she waited for the gauntlet to fall.

They all waited, and those passing through the vast circle felt the tension in their body, their soul, even though they could not pinpoint why.

One hiker passed within feet of a hidden angel. He sat for twenty minutes under the warrior’s undeterred gaze, eating his lunch, and neither spoke. The warrior actually turned his head briefly, observing the human so unaware. Curiosity aroused, the warrior stepped forward and brushed his hand over the human’s shoulder.

“Martha will pull through.” The warrior whispered, and the human nodded though he knew not what he’d heard.

Then the warrior returned to his position of vigilance and continued to wait.

The human waited with him.

* * *

 Bobby sat next to the bed, elbows resting on his knees and hands folded in front of him. He glanced up to the make sure the protective sigils he’d scrawled on the wall were still there and let his gun rest against the wall.

Crowley was curled tightly into a ball, nestled under the blankets, but his sleep wasn’t restful. If anything, he still looked broken, frightened, and so Bobby lay back down next to him despite his usual rule of not staying in bed past dawn. He wrapped an arm around the King of Hell, tugging him back against his chest.

“It’s okay, idjit,” he murmured softly. “You’re okay.”

_Crowley paced the floor and Bobby paused rather than try and keep up with him. He saw Crowley glance two or three times at the liquor cabinet before pressing the heels of his palms into his forehead. He wanted to say something to reassure the panicking monarch, but somehow knew if he said anything then the moment would be gone._

_Suddenly, Crowley stopped pacing him and faced him. “I thought he was ashamed of me.”_

_The words hung in the silence and Bobby waited calmly, waiting for Crowley’s next words._

_“He hid me. I knew he was hiding me but I didn’t want to admit it. He talked about Heaven and his family, and how I was destined for great things. He told me he loved me and how proud he was of me. He taught me sigils and Enochian and how to fight and how to stop and appreciate the good things in life. He was my father and all I knew in the world. Everything moved around us, like we were our own axis, and nothing else mattered. Binary stars in our own galaxy, and then it was all ripped away. The way that monster looked at me, like I was nothing. An abomination, he called me. He was supposed to be my family, and yet he tried to kill me. That’s when I knew, or thought I knew, why my father hid me away from the world. I thought he was ashamed of me.”_

_Bobby stepped forward, reaching out to touch Crowley’s shoulder. Crowley looked up into his eyes, and Bobby was caught by the relief there, the sudden realization, and then Crowley’s head dropped onto his chest. His arms slid around the hunter’s waist, fingers digging into his back, and Bobby held him tightly. The monarch’s shoulders shook with broken sobs, tears forming a wet patch on his shirt, but Bobby just rubbed his back soothingly._

_“He loved me, Bobby.” Crowley whispered. “He was protecting me. I was so stupid. He was protecting me.”_

Crowley stirred in his arms, and rolled over to face him. Crowley would pretend it had been unconscious later, but he shrank forward to stretch himself against the long line of Bobby’s body. He’d long since come to know every dip and swell of the elder hunter’s body, how what most assumed was a pot belly beer gut was a thick coil of muscle, how there was very little if anything soft about Bobby Singer, and Crowley pressed his hands against Bobby’s chest, spreading his fingers wide as if to cover as much skin as he could. A second later, he pressed his face into Bobby’s neck, thinking if he could just get close enough then maybe Bobby would open up and Crowley could burrow inside and live in his skin.

“You okay?” Bobby asked gruffly and Crowley nodded wordlessly.

“Can we…not tell anyone about this?” Crowley said softly.

Bobby chuckled, tilting Crowley’s head up so he could kiss him, and Crowley purred into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Bobby’s shoulders. Bobby shifted so he could roll Crowley under him when Crowley went still all of a sudden.

“What’s wrong?” Bobby asked, sitting up. Crowley’s eyes were wide, his eyes alight with sudden fear.

“Someone just opened a Hellmouth.”

Bobby rolled off the bed, Crowley just after him. Bobby pulled on a shirt as Crowley snapped his fingers to dress himself.

“Where?”

“Twelve miles north of here.”

Bobby stopped, staring back at Crowley. “Dean and Cas…”

“They’re safe.” Crowley said firmly. “I put wards around their place myself, on top of what Castiel and Gabriel did. I’ve got to figure out what started this. I’ll be back.”

He stole a kiss but was gone the next second and Bobby let out a slow breath.

* * *

Castiel woke with a jerk, sitting up straight in bed. The air was tense, wrong, but with his grace so fuzzy and distressed from his molting, he couldn’t tell what was wrong.

Then he heard a crash in the kitchen and Dean shouted and he was on his feet, skidding into the room where Gabriel and Sam had just appeared, Sam cradling Simon against his chest.

“What’s wrong?”

“Someone opened a Hellmouth.” Gabriel announced and Dean felt his stomach drop, Castiel moving to take Simon from Sam. Simon whined, picking up on the tension in the room.

“Crowley.” Dean snapped, feeling adrenaline beginning to pump through his system as it hadn’t in months, if not years.

“A Hellmouth…” Castiel spoke at the same moment, his wings curling protectively around Simon. “Where?”

“Six miles west of here.”

“Bobby…”

“I’ll call him.” Sam announced, cutting Dean off. “Can we close it?”

“I’ll take care of it.” Gabriel said simply. “Cas, you stay with the baby.”

“I can help!”

“Your Grace is crazy right now,” Gabriel said shortly. “I’m not putting you in the line of fire. Not again.”

“Gabriel, I remember,” Castiel said softly. “No one put me in the line of fire. I knew what Michael was going to do to me, I chose to stay behind.”

“You remember…” Gabriel breathed, breaking into a grin. “You remember.”

Castiel nodded, lowering his head sheepishly as he smiled, and he spoke for the first time in centuries in the ancient language that God breathed into the angels.

_“Gabriel.”_

Sam gasped as the felt the thrill of Castiel’s words roll through him from Gabriel’s grace, looking up quickly at Dean to see he felt the same thing. Gabriel, however, just stepped forward and pulled Castiel into a tight hug. Between them, Simon giggled, warm pulses from their grace tickling his skin. Castiel laughed lightly, wrapping his arm around Gabriel lightly even as Gabriel clung to him.

“You’re an asshole, you know that?” Gabriel gasped against his shoulder. His grip tightened briefly, fingers digging into Castiel’s back hard enough to leave bruises that quickly faded away.

“I’m sorry, brother,” Castiel said softly.

Gabriel nodded and stepped back. “I’ll go and scout ahead. Sam, Dean, if you could follow in the car…”

Castiel sighed almost imperceptibly as Sam nudged past him to go to the cellar and grab some gear. Dean wrapped his arms around his mate and son and kissed Castiel’s forehead.

“I’ll call if we need you. Right now, you keep yourself and Simon safe.”

Castiel nodded, shifting the toddler in his arms. “If something happens and you can’t handle it, you run. You get Sam and you run.”

Dean gently kissed him, squeezing him lightly. “Relax. I’m Dean Winchester.”

“That’s what worries me.”

Sam came back upstairs, tossing Dean a duffel bag and Dean slung it over his shoulder, flashing Castiel a grin. Gabriel pulled Sam down for a kiss.

“Don’t keep me waiting, Samsquatch.”

Gabriel vanished and Sam shrugged while Dean mimed gagging behind his hand, making Simon gurgle and clap his hands. Sam rolled his eyes, shoving Dean towards the door.

“Dean,” Castiel whispered one last time and Dean squeezed his hand.

“It’s okay, Cas. We just got to go lock the front door back.”

“I can feel how worried you are.”

Dean sighed. “It’s a friggin’ Hellmouth, Cas. Why is it open? Who opened it? How many sons of bitches have gotten through?”

Castiel grabbed him, dragging him down to his lips and he held him for a long moment.

“You come back to me, you hear me? Don’t make me raise you up again, because I will.”

* * *

Crowley treaded carefully, invisible to all but the supernatural as he approached the open Hellmouth. Demons were pouring through, but not as many as should’ve been. Every demon in his domain should have been shoving and trampling each other, trying to get through the open door, but it didn’t even look like they were trying.

“Crowley.”

Crowley paused, his gaze traveling over the form of the woman who appeared in front of him. The wind stirred her red curls, brown eyes hard and cold, and her slim body didn’t do much to fill out the impeccably tailored suit.

Of course, he had to take a moment to appreciate such a good suit. Too bad it didn’t have a suitable wearer to compliment it.

Suit. Suitable. He was hilarious.

“Nicolai,” He murmured, a smirk crossing his lips. “Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise? No, really, I’m surprised. I didn’t think you had the bottle to open a Hellmouth on your own, despite that little faction you call a rebel force.”

“Yes, well…I did have to seek assistance.” Nicolai rubbed her hands together, turning away from him, her walk slowly arching to one side. Crowley shifted his weight, folding his hands into the pockets of his overcoat, his smirk growing a bit wider.

“Who would help you?” Crowley laughed. “Your last three attempts at taking my throne have failed. Gloriously, I might add. Worthy of a chapter in the history books, your failures.”

Nicolai snarled. “That’s why I went higher this time. She actually came to me. She saw my potential, and she wants to put me on the throne of Hell. Your time is up, Crowley. _She told me what you are.”_

Crowley felt his blood run cold, halting in his veins the same way it had centuries before. Nicolai’s words reverberated in his head, echoing over and over again until he could feel them pounding in his very soul.

“What I am?” he laughed. “I’m about to be your executioner. I told you last time, if you started this up again…”

“She opened the Hellmouth and laid down the markings, the sigils that encompass all of this puny state. You were trapped the moment you woke up this morning.”

Crowley struggled not to let his fear show on his face, his thoughts immediately with the hunter he’d left back at the Singer Salvage Yard. He did tense, muscles aching as he unfurled his wings where Nicolai could not see. It had been a while since he had to smite a demon, but with the souls at his back, he was sure he could manage it.

Nicolai drew a silver blade, marked by grace and imbued with Heaven’s might, and Crowley stopped.

He was done.

It was over.

He’d never even told Bobby he loved him.

Nicolai dragged the blade over her palm, drawing blood and hissing as the grace scorched against her blackened soul.

 _“Anime in ignis lucisque alis capte…”_ Nicolai chanted and Crowley ground his teeth down against the scream coiling in the back of his throat, burning as human blood turned against angelic grace within his own body. He dropped to one knee under the weight of the spell, his wings suddenly pinned to the ground.

_“…istum quod ne sit…”_

Crowley lost his battle and howled, forced to his hands and knees. Bones snapped in his wings and he dug his fingers into the burned earth. The demons that had broken through the gate circled around them, members of Nicolai’s mutinous crew, come to watch their monarch fall.

_“…vinci frangeque.”_

Crowley willed for the darkness to take him, begged, screamed, but there was only light and fire to consume him.

* * *

Gabriel chose not to smite the demons rushing past him. There would be time to seek them out later, but he needed to get to the gate.

So, invisible to both the demons and the angels he could feel stationed in a wide circle around the state of South Dakota, Gabriel moved in on the Hellmouth. He couldn’t understand why the angels weren’t acting just as he was, moving to close the Hellmouth, or even to strike against the errant demons.

Everything about this screamed ‘trap,’ but for who?

He quickly sent Sam a message for them to hang back and wait for his signal. He felt Castiel move from their house to Bobby’s, taking Simon with him, so they were even further from the Hellmouth than before.

Who had opened the Hellmouth?

Who were they trying to trap?

As he drew closer to the dark field, he could hear voices. He didn’t feel alarmed, however, until one of them began to chant.

_That is a Nephilim binding spell!_

Then Gabriel was running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lateness of this chapter! First it was writer's block, then the election, and gah! Also, this chapter is unbeta'd so please forgive me for any typos. 
> 
> \--
> 
> Anime in ignis lucisque alis capte, istum quod ne sit vinci frangeque.
> 
> "Soul trapped in wings of fire and light, bind and break that which should not be"
> 
> Latin translation by scriptxlatinae


	5. Dad, Can You Hear Me?

Twelve miles away from the open Hellmouth, Bobby was sitting quietly on his front porch, shotgun slung across his knees as he looked out towards the mid-afternoon sun. He wasn’t surprised when Castiel suddenly appeared in the chair next to him, Simon asleep in his arms.

“Poor tyke’s tuckered out.” Bobby commented and Castiel nodded quietly.

“Yes, he had much to say and then it was all I could do to get his lunch before he fell asleep.”

“’Much to say?’” Bobby repeated, turning skeptically to the angel.

Castiel rocked the sleeping babe in his arms, gazing down at him fondly. “He doesn’t know words yet, but he speaks in colors and pictures. I can see his thoughts, and since he is an angelic vessel, I can project thoughts back to him.”

Bobby nodded slowly. “That’ll come in handy.”

“I haven’t told Dean that I can do it yet.”

“Why not?”

“He’s so worried about not being a good father, and about learning sign language, that I’m afraid he’ll be jealous.”

Bobby shook his head, sighing. “Stop being an idjit, Cas. Dean’ll be happy.”

Castiel nodded slowly, and their gaze traveled in unison to the mark so many miles away where their loved ones would soon be doing battle.

“How are you feeling?” Bobby asked after a moment.

“Does it matter?” Castiel responded without turning.

* * *

The Impala roared easily down the road, Dean pressing it to 60 mph but Gabriel told them to take their time so he wasn’t rushing. Sam drummed a steady beat on his thighs, duffel bag resting securely between his legs.

All of a sudden, Sam went stiff.

“What’s wrong?” Dean immediately asked, his hands tensing on the steering wheel.

“Drive faster.” Sam said shortly. “Something’s up.”

* * *

Gabriel flared his grace and the demon beneath his hands died in the light of holy fury. The others seemed surprised that he was there, and a few started towards him automatically. Another couple tried to smoke out, and one actually made a run for the Hellmouth.

They all died in one glorious blaze of fire and Gabriel stood for a moment, relishing in the feel of smiting like a proper archangel once again. He turned and faced the Hellmouth, raising a hand, and the seals around the gate closed and locked once more. Then the ache set in, the pull at the bindings on his grace, and it was only adrenaline that shoved him forward into the center of the field where a body lay crumpled.

He couldn’t believe a Nephilim had survived, and survived alone for all this time.

Gabriel paused when he drew near, looking down at the bound Nephilim. Its grace was weakly pulsing, its wings shattered and broken. A Concealment lay over it, large cracks running through the façade. Gabriel could tell that the Nephilim had been masquerading as a demon for quite some time, but as the Nephilim’s grace faded, so did the Concealment, and Gabriel’s grace stopped humming.

“Malachi…”

Oh Father.

“Leaf and Star, Malachi…” Gabriel fell to his knees, pulling his broken son into his arms and cradling against his chest. He smoothed the Nephilim’s hair back, kissing his forehead.

“Malachi, wake up. Please, baby, wake up. I’m here, Dad please…”

Gabriel hadn’t prayed in so long, but as he watched his tears fall onto his son’s still face, he prayed.

And prayed.

He almost didn’t hear the screech of the Impala, Dean drawing as close as he could with the car before both he and Sam were sprinting across the field towards him.

“Gabriel!” Sam cried, and then Dean was skidding to a stop a few feet away.

“So it was Crowley? Crowley opened it?”

Gabriel looked up at him, confused. He knew the name, had heard Castiel and the brothers mention him in passing: the demon, Crowley.

“His name isn’t Crowley.” Gabriel stated, curling around his son’s still form protectively. “His name is Malachi. He’s my son.”

Dean gaped at him before laughing shortly, shaking his head. “Don’t…don’t mess with me, Gabriel. I’m not in the mood.”

“Dean,” Sam said softly. “He’s not lying. He means it.”

“Gabriel,” Dean started again, his eyes wide and pleading. “That’s not your son, that’s Crowley. He’s a demon, for Pete’s sake. He tried to kill me and Sam a bunch of times. He tried to kill Cas. He’s half the reason Cas and I got stuck in Purgatory for a friggin’ year!”

“Are you telling me I don’t know my own son?” Gabriel’s voice was soft, dangerous, and Sam laid a hand on Dean’s arm.

Dean looked almost frantically from his brother to Gabriel and back again, his entire stance hesitant.

“Dean,” Gabriel breathed, and Dean caved, waving Gabriel forward.

Gabriel tried to get to his feet, but the energy of closing the Hellmouth had drained him and Crowley’s weight was too much for him. Sam took a deep breath before he stepped forward, descending into the small valley and walking to his mate's side. Gabriel looked up at him, his eyes awed as Sam bent, offering his arms.

"Give him to me. I'll carry him."

"Sam!" Dean shouted, but Sam didn't look up, just crooked his fingers in a gesture to indicate he was ready and willing to carry Crowley.

Gabriel slowly shifted and Sam leaned forward to take Crowley's weight into his arms, the King of Hell falling limp against his chest. Surprised at how light he was, Sam slid an arm beneath his knees and another around his shoulders, lifting him easily and heading back up to the car. Gabriel stayed glued to his side, keeping a steady eye on his son.

Dean stayed still for a moment, even after they passed him, turning his keys over in his hands. They were helping Crowley. The demon that had almost always had a hand in making their days go from bad to worse, and they were helping him.

Worse, if he was Gabriel's son, that sorta made Crowley his nephew. That was just wrong.

Gabriel stopped, frozen, and then spun, shouting to Dean.

"What?" Dean snapped, turning, but any further words caught in his throat at the look Gabriel was giving him.

"What is it?" he called hurriedly.

Gabriel spoke softly, but Dean heard him anyway.

"Angels. Angels are coming."

* * *

Castiel was tense, and Simon was picking up, mewling quietly in his sleep.

"If Gabriel went with them, they'll be fine," Bobby said firmly, offering Castiel a glass of iced tea. Castiel had already declined a beer, his eyes fixated on the horizon.

"He may be an archangel," Castiel said softly. "But anyone can be overwhelmed. I don't like being useless. I can't even help Simon, I am so worried about Dean and Sam."

Bobby would've reached to take the sleeping toddler from his father, but he could see the way Castiel's arms were curled protectively around him. Simon may have not needed Castiel at that moment, but Castiel needed him.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, Castiel stood and pushed Simon into his arms. "Take Simon to the cellar. Now."

"What's wrong?"

"Angels.”

* * *

Sam slid into the backseat with Crowley draped across his lap. Gabriel was right behind him, pulling Crowley back to him. Dean slammed his door shut, not bothering to make sure Gabriel's was shut as well before he was fish-tailing into a U-turn.

"Head for Bobby's!" Gabriel commanded, his hands cupping Crowley's face. "I've got to get this binding off him. It's choking him."

Dean grit his teeth, failing to see the bad side of that but smart enough to keep his mouth shut.

"Why are angels chasing us, Gabriel?!" Dean half-shouted, earning a glare from Sam.

"They must be after Malachi," Gabriel said shortly. "They went after Cas, and he's the Seraph. Malachi must be the Last Nephilim."

The prophecy flashed into Dean's mind. When the Great Seraph and the Last Nephilim stand together...

"Cas is not working with Crowley."

"Dean..." Sam started softly and Dean shook his head.

"Look, I'll buy into Crowley being a Neffy in disguise, I'll even buy into him being Gabe's kid. But we're not going down this road again. Cas is still crazy worked up over this whole Seraph thing."

"We'll just take things one step at a time, okay?" Sam continued, placating. "Let's just get to Bobby's."

Dean huffed, but shifted and put the pedal to the floor. "Gabe, you covering us?"

"We're invisible to anybody or anything looking."

"Awesome."

* * *

Bobby had taken Simon downstairs and laid him, still sleeping, in his crib while Castiel checked the wards around the salvage yard. The sigils they used were specially engraved to allow Castiel and Gabriel in and out, but no other angel could even see the house, let alone come near it.

The Impala rumbled down his drive, and Bobby let his shotgun slip to point towards the ground. Castiel came out immediately after he did, not stopping at the porch and heading off to meet them. Dean was out of the car the moment it stopped moving, stiff and distant when Castiel hugged him, the angel quickly checking him for bodily injury. Bobby heard his son’s rough “I’m fine, Cas,” and then turned his head to where Gabriel was now helping Sam lift a body out of the backseat.

The shotgun clattered to the wood slats of the porch and Bobby was rushing to the car as Sam lifted Crowley’s unconscious form to his chest.

“What happened?” he asked quickly, brushing a hand over Crowley’s forehead, his skin hot to the touch and his breathing labored.

“Crowley is a Nephilim,” Sam offered. “Gabriel thinks the Hellmouth was a trap for him.”

“Okay. Let’s get him inside.”

“You’re okay with this?” Dean asked incredulously as they passed. He followed them inside as Bobby didn’t let Sam slow down, ushering the two of them into the warded cellar, Gabriel following closely behind.

“I’ve known for a while he weren’t no demon,” Bobby gruffed. “I just didn’t know what he was.”

“Wait, just wait,” Dean held up his hands and Bobby sighed, turning.

“What, boy?”

“You’re okay with this, though? With saving Crowley?”

“Why wouldn’t we save him?” Gabriel snapped, straightening up from where he’d knelt next to Crowley and Sam.

“He’s tried to kill us!” Dean half-shouted, incredulous he was the only one upset. “He stole your soul, Bobby! Held it hostage! He manipulated us into hunting Alphas, he lied about Sam’s soul, he withheld information about Purgatory…”

“And he pulled me out of Purgatory.” Bobby retorted. “You know back when Cas was sick? He helped with the research. When Sam was being controlled, he called the demons out of the area. You want me to go on?”

“He’s a demon, Bobby! Since when are you on his side?”

“Since…”

“Since when, Bobby?!” Dean cried, and Bobby drew himself up to his full height.

“Since I started dating him, idjit!”

“Wait, what?” Sam yelped. Dean just stood there, staring at him, mouth agape. It took a moment before betrayal filled his eyes, and he just spun on his heel, pushing past Castiel on the stairs and disappearing. Castiel looked around at the group before rushing up after him.

“Dean!”

Dean heard Castiel calling after him, but he didn’t slow down, pushing out the back door and out into the salvage yard. He heard Castiel hit the door after him, and resolved himself to the confrontation, turning around so Castiel skidded to a stop in front of him.

“Dean, what’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? It’s Crowley, Cas, Crowley that they’re in there working so hard to save. I don’t care what he’s got in him, Cas, he’s a demon. He’s King of Hell. We should be ganking him, not trying to fix him. He’s our enemy, Cas!”

Castiel was looking at him sadly. “I was once your enemy.”

Dean sighed. “That’s different, Cas.”

“Is it, Dean? Crowley has offered us assistance just as often as he has worked against us. I do not like him, Dean. I don’t suppose I ever will, but Samael tried to kill him. I believe the saying is ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend?’”

Dean shook his head, stepping back. “No, Cas. I won’t, I’m not trusting him again. I have you, and I have Simon to think about. I’m not putting either of you in danger, not for him.”

“Dean…”

“You haven’t even noticed it, have you?”

Castiel looked up at him, confused. “Noticed what?”

Dean grabbed his hand, lifting it up to show him the ring he’d slipped on him earlier the same day. Castiel stared at it in surprise, holding his hand up to his face even after Dean’s grip had slipped from his wrist.

“You used to wear this ring. You lost it, I remember you being upset.”

“It was my mother’s.” Dean said simply. “My mother’s wedding ring.”

“I see,” Castiel’s voice was just a whisper. “You wish to marry me. Of course, yes, I will marry you. Such was never a question.”

Dean sighed, the anger of the moment past but he just couldn’t go back inside. He couldn’t help them.

“Dean?”

Dean shook his head, shoving his hands in his pockets. After a moment, he laughed wearily.

“Funny…I thought I’d be happier hearing you say that.”

Castiel watched silently as Dean turned, walking away from him out into the sea of lifeless cars towards Jimmy’s memorial stone. He held his hand to his chest, tracing the ring on his finger, before turning and heading back inside and back downstairs.

* * *

Gabriel stared at Bobby long after Dean and Castiel had disappeared upstairs. “You’re dating my son?”

“Your son?” Bobby returned incredulously.

“Long story,” Sam said shortly. “Guys, can we save the intimidating for later? He’s not breathing well.”

“It’s worse than you think.” Castiel announced from the stairs, his steps suddenly quick and sure. “Gabriel, there’s a sigil in the air. It needs to be released immediately, and I believe the angels carved it so that it would not be noticed. Take to wing, it will most likely be spotted from the air.”

“I can’t leave him, Cas,” Gabriel begged and Castiel placed a firm hand on his shoulder, reaching forward with a tattered wing. In that moment, it didn’t matter that Castiel’s wings were half their normal size. It was the strength of his voice, the coil of his grace, and Gabriel nodded after a moment, stepping back.

Sam and Bobby shared a look as they turned to Castiel moments after Gabriel’s departure.

“Gabriel will release the sigil.” Castiel announced. “We need to counter the binding spell, and then I will do what I can for his wings.”

“His wings?”

Castiel nodded slowly. “He had them bound in Concealment, but when the binding spell was released, it ripped the concealments away and shattered his wings. That’s why I needed Gabriel to seek out the sigil. I don’t want him here. Bobby, if you are emotionally attached, you may want to leave as well.”

Bobby shook his head. “Tell me what you need me to do.”

Castiel took a deep breath. “I need a bowl, myrrh, holy oil, white sage, and Sam, I need your blood.”

Bobby went to the cabinets, pulling down Castiel’s requests as Sam began pulling up a sleep.

“Why my blood?” Sam asked as he did so, for a moment fearing the taint of the demon had returned.

“Because the spell I am thinking of asks for the father’s blood. Samael is Malachi’s father, but Gabriel is his surrogate father. I cannot use Gabriel, but you are his mate. I believe the human term is ‘stepfather.’”

Sam laughed, shaking his head and only wincing slightly when Castiel pressed the knife into his arm, catching his blood in the bowl Bobby handed him. The wound healed the instant Castiel had what he needed, and Bobby knelt next to where Crowley lay on the cot, taking his hand. Castiel broke the small bundle of sage over the bowl, casting the white leaves over the myrrh, holy oil, and blood.

“Sam, hold the bowl over him,” Castiel prompted and Sam took the bowl from him, standing next to Bobby and holding the bowl over Crowley’s still form.

Castiel pressed two fingers to Crowley’s forehead and his wings suddenly punched into existence. Sam had to fight back bile at the mangled sight, blood casting over the feathers, and bone protruding. Bobby let out a low groan, closing his eyes and covering his face with the hand not holding Crowley’s. From what Sam could tell, Crowley’s wings were a deep red, grading from almost-black to scarlet at the tips. It made telling what was blood and what was feather.

“Sam.”

Castiel’s voice called him back to attention and he straightened, holding the bowl out. Castiel lifted his hand over the bowl, his wings unfurling out behind him, and Sam could see how diminished Castiel looked with half his feathers gone.

“Are you okay, Cas?”

“I have enough for this.” Castiel said simply and began to chant, low, rough Enochian that caused light to glimmer in Crowley’s wings.

Then, something in the air changed. Light glimmered along Castiel’s wings and his voice changed, all traces of Jimmy’s voice lost. Sam kept waiting for his ears to bleed out, but instead it was like soft music playing on the crescendo. Time seemed to still, and seconds passed in hours, and Sam felt Castiel’s grace moving through him, his voice calling life back into Crowley.

The ingredients in the bowl burst into flame and Sam blinked as time sped up, the smoke billowing up and then descending over and into Crowley. The monarch’s color returned and his breathing steadied, though his wings were still in desperate need of attention. Still, Castiel spoke, and the lights in the house flickered and then in a burst of sparks, the power went dead.

Castiel hit the floor a second later, his head cracking hard on the cement floor. Sam’s bowl clattered against the hard floor, blood and holy oil pouring over the black lines of a devil’s trap as Sam dropped to his knees, lifting the unconscious Castiel into his arms. Bobby found a kerosene lamp and lit it, flooding the cellar with the eerie flicker of flame.

Gabriel appeared half a second later, looking quickly from Crowley’s broken wings to the unconscious Castiel, and a half-choked whimper broke through his lips. It took only a second before Gabriel crossed over and touched two fingers to Castiel’s forehead, healing the bloody gash on his head.

“Take him upstairs and let him lay down. His grace needs to replenish itself.”

Sam nodded, lifting Castiel to his chest and jerking in surprise when Castiel slid an arm around his shoulders. He hadn’t realized Castiel had regained consciousness, but at the angel’s pained gasp, he decided not to bother. As Sam disappeared upstairs, Gabriel knelt next to Crowley, brushing a hand over his face.

“Why didn’t it heal his wings?” Bobby asked, carrying the lamp over to Gabriel.

“That was just a spell to release the bindings. The spell the demons used must’ve been more powerful than I realized for Castiel to use such a powerful release. I’ll perform a healing later, but a Nephilim’s wings are different than an angel’s.” Gabriel replied softly. “They are physical rather than a corporeal manifestation. We’ll have to set them before his grace can heal them.”

Bobby nodded, waiting for direction from Gabriel as the archangel surveyed the massive damage to Crowley’s scarlet wings. After a moment, Gabriel laughed wearily.

“I have no idea what to do.”

“Good thing I do then,” A voice called from the stairs, and Gabriel looked up to see Dean carrying Bobby’s military medi-kit.

Dean met the archangel’s fierce gaze, setting his jaw. “Let’s get started.”


	6. The Last Nephilim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Possible Graphic Depictions of Violence and Rape

_A young man with dark hair and gray-blue eyes walked alone down the path to the temple. He liked to go before dawn, when only the priests were moving about and there was no one competing to get a quiet, private word in with the goddess. Not to mention, it simply seemed foolish to visit Nyx during daylight hours._

_He knelt before the altar and lit the incense, closing his eyes tiredly. He had hardly slept for weeks, always woken by the sound of a child crying. He lived alone, at least a half a day’s walk from the nearest house. The sound was always loud, as if it were playing in his head._

_The quiet temple was filled with the sound of his voice as he spoke the opening rite, then seemed to sink into himself._

_“Dearest goddess, I…I come to you, begging for assistance. I cannot go on with these spirits that plague me, these creatures of your glorious Night. Please show me how I might be rid of them, or show me the path that you wish for me to take.”_

Can anybody hear me!?

_It was the first time he’d heard the voice speak, but he recognized it immediately as the crying child._

Please, anyone…please help me…

_The young man raised his head to the altar, looking up into the painted sculpture of the goddess, and then closed his eyes once more._

_“I can hear you. I am here.”_

_Almost immediately, he felt warmth begin to surround him and light filled the air around him, burning against his closed lids._

Help me

_“What must I do?”_

I need your body

_“Take it.” He spoke, spreading his arms wide. “I am yours to do with as you will, great spirit.”_

_The heat became almost unbearable, spreading through him from his head down to his feet. He felt his own consciousness pushed aside, and finally, he slept._

_Malachi stretched himself out into the new body, blinking as he was finally able to see again. He looked down, breathing a sigh of relief at the sight of hands flexing with his guiding thought, feeling toes curl on sand and the wind against his neck. He was no longer a bodiless spirit, no longer vulnerable, and he could be free._

_“Marcus?”_

_He turned to see a priest stepping towards him, concern written on his features._

_“Are you all right?”_

_“I’m not Marcus,” Malachi said simply, tasting the words as they flowed over his tongue, and then he stretched his wings._

_The priest gasped as the man before him vanished, and fell to his knees before the altar._

* * *

Dean crossed the salvage yard away from Castiel, feeling the now subtle pull that came with going too far from his mate. Since completing their bond, the distance they could move from one another was getting longer, but the nervousness from not being able to see Castiel still felt like he was slipping underwater and watching the boat that could save him float away.

When he reached the Memorial Stone, he sank down next to it, letting his head fall into his hands.

“I miss you, Jimmy,” Dean said softly.

He sat there for a long time, listening the quiet rustle of the grass in the soft wind. How was he supposed to protect his family when the enemy was right there with them? How could he accept Crowley as anything but their foe?

He wanted someone to sort out his head for him, but Cas, his usual go-to head-sorter, was having his own breakdown. Cas didn’t want to become an archangel, and they seemed to all be barreling towards something they couldn’t stop, no matter how much they wanted to, or how little they knew about it. It was the Apocalypse all over again.

Dean shoved himself to his feet after a while, shaking the dust from his jeans almost as if he could shake off his doubts as well. It didn’t really help, but he was determined now. The only way to figure out what was coming would be to face it head on.

* * *

Sam stumbled as he carried hot water down to the cellar where they had Crowley. It was the only space large enough to stretch out his wings so they could work. The pain that had been building in the back of his mind flared briefly.

Sudden new knowledge wormed its way into his brain as he leaned against the stair railing. Flashes of a life that wasn’t his, and a face he didn’t recognize.

“Sam?”

Gabriel was at his side, helping him down the last few steps and he sank into a nearby chair.

“Head hurts,” Sam complained, feeling Gabriel’s fingers thread through his hair.

“You okay, boy?” He heard Bobby ask gruffly and nodded, forcing the pain to the side.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”

Gabriel had taken the water from him, carrying it to Crowley’s side, and Sam fought the urge to just close his eyes and let the pain consume him. Instead he got to his feet, moving to help his brother and mate with Crowley’s wings.

* * *

_Malachi had been traveling for decades, and his vessel had aged with the time passing. He didn’t know how to maintain it as his father had, so he tended to its human needs with the same care that one might tend to their favorite horse: a necessary creature, but still lesser than he. He only noticed the age of his vessel when he stopped one morning by a river and noticed Marcus’ dark hair had turned gray and his beard was white. Glancing down, he noticed his hands were no longer strong and nimble, but calloused and worn._

_“What brings you to my crossroads, angel?”_

_He looked up in surprise, meeting the gaze of a blue-eyed youth across the river, the sunlight glinting in his golden hair. He was dressed as a Roman noble, but there was something beyond his eyes that was cold and far crueler than humanity had yet learned how to become._

_Beyond his face was something humanity didn’t yet have words to describe, and Malachi gasped in horror, falling back away from the river and onto his back. A second later, the monster was kneeling at his feet and hovering over him, covering the length of his body with his own._

_“You’re pretty, angel, and thus my question does bear repeating. What brings you here?”_

_“Not an angel,” Malachi gasped, struggling both to look away from the creature’s face and yet not take his eyes from him. He didn’t yet know if it was friend or foe._

_The being smirked and his hand raked out, grasping Malachi’s wing and pinning him to the ground by it. The creature was strong, and Malachi couldn’t help a small whimper from escaping his lips. The last time he’d been pinned like this, Michael had torn his grace into tiny shreds._

_“Maybe not.” It continued, smirking with its strange accent more reminiscent of the Anglo-Saxon realm than the Scotland slopes they found themselves in now. “I’m sure you would have smitten me by now if you were. So what are you then? There aren’t many creatures that have wings like yours, or smell so pure.”_

_“I’m half,” Malachi mumbled, trying to sink into the ground._

_The creature above him tilted its head as it considered this idea before finally grinning._

_“You’re a Nephilim. I can’t believe there are any left.”_

_Then it was leaning back and offering him a hand, pulling him to his feet. “What’s your name, Nephy?”_

_“Marcus,” Malachi gave his vessel’s name, trying not to hesitate but the thing caught it anyway._

_“I mean, your real name.” It prodded easily. Malachi bit his lip, eyeing it carefully before he gave in._

_“Malachi…my name is Malachi. What’s yours?”_

_“Alexander.” It answered slyly and Malachi smiled._

_“No, your real one.”_

_“You catch on fast.” It laughed. “My name is Siobhan.”_

* * *

Black and scarlet feathers littered the floor of the cellar, creating a vast sea of down soaked in blood, and Gabriel’s words kept vibrating in his ears.

_“Nephilim walk the line between human and angel. They have souls, but their souls are wrapped in grace. They have physical bodies, usually, but because of their grace, they can walk between the spiritual and physical worlds. This balance makes them vastly powerful, if probably trained.”_

Dean would’ve shaken his head to clear his thoughts, but he didn’t risk looking away from what he was doing. His hands ached from the pain-staking, repetitive motion, but as he looked up and saw the raw, if exhausted, determination on Gabriel’s face as he worked on Crowley’s opposite wing, Dean couldn’t stop.

His closeness with the wing at hand brought into sharp relief that Crowley’s wings were nothing like Castiel’s, or even Gabriel’s. Sure, they looked similar at first, but the feathers were rough instead of silken. Even the down seemed more like wool than down, and beneath the feathers, where he was stitching, there were thousands of criss-crossing scars and he could just make out a few Enochian sigils. Every so often, he’d catch a stray feather that was more than just coarse; it was like glass and sliced into his hand.

What freaked him out was that seconds later, the cut would be gone as if it had never been.

He pulled the tiny stitch closed, then tightened the splint around the break. It would hold the bone in place so Crowley’s grace could finish the job. Crowley, walking the line between human and angel, pretending to be a demon, and Dean didn’t want to think about it but he forced himself into the image. Crowley was a Nephilim, Gabriel’s son, Malachi, from the story. Gabriel had told them that Michael killed Malachi, but here he was.

What could that have been like?

Dean felt someone take his hand and push a warm mug into it. His frigid fingers curled around the old chipped Army mug and he looked up at Bobby, catching the quick look of affection the older man gave him. Bobby pulled a seat over and lifted Crowley’s wing into his lap, moving to set the next break.

“So…you and Crowley…how did that happen?” Dean asked quietly.

“He pulled me outta Purgatory,” Bobby answered gruffly. “After that, try as I did, I couldn’t keep him out of the house. He was always popping in and out, said he didn’t like it in Hell, and I got used to him. Then he started growing on me, and…” Bobby shrugged after a moment. “I didn’t want to tell you boys because I knew what you would think, but I figured out he weren’t no demon before I let anything happen.”

“You said,” Dean started again, sipping the hot tea in the mug. “That he helped with the research when Cas was poisoned?”

Bobby nodded. “He provided most of the books I was going through, and I have my suspicions that he used some of his angel mojo to treat Cas like Gabriel did, but he just didn’t have enough to kill it all.”

Bobby turned, touching Dean’s shoulder to gain his attention. “Look, son, I know you ain’t gonna trust him overnight, but believe me when I say if he was all bad, I would’ve shot him a long time ago.”

Dean sighed, staring down into his mug. “Just…give me time to wrap my head around this, Bobby.”

Bobby smiled, gripping his shoulder tightly for a minute then turning back to the task at hand.

“How’s Cas?” Dean asked quietly.

“In and out. Apparently this feather-shedding is making it a bit difficult for him to maintain his vessel, so he’s having to sleep and eat and stuff. Might want to keep an eye on that, make sure he gets what he needs. Not sure he knows what hunger feels like.”

Dean nodded, setting the mug down and wiping his needle clean with an alcohol swab. “Let’s keep working and finish this before Crowley wakes up.”

Even as they worked, Dean could feel the exhaustion creeping through Gabriel, and especially through Bobby. He couldn’t feel his own fingers, but trusted no one else to handle the tiny stitching that needed to be done in the delicate webbing of Crowley’s wings. He could keep working. He had to keep working.

* * *

_Malachi followed Siobhan back to the small but luxurious villa it owned. Alabaster walls framed the cliffside retreat and he could hear the ocean crashing against the cliff face so far below._

_“It’s beautiful.”_

_“You know, a king used to live here. I laid claim to it as soon as the dogs tore him apart.”_

_Malachi traced the edge of a gilded frame, the painting it held unusual for its time. It depicted a monstrous creature triumphing over a golden-haired angel, except Malachi knew angels didn’t look like that._

_“Do you like it? The great lord Lucifer triumphing over Michael. Poetic, don’t you think?”_

_Malachi brushed his fingertips over the pinned angel. “He doesn’t look like that…but I like it, nonetheless.”_

_Siobhan leaned against the wall, smirking. “So…you’ve met Michael, huh?”_

_“He tried to kill me.”_

_“How’d you escape?”_

_“Weren’t you showing me where I could stay?”_

_Siobhan laughed before stretching and beckoning him to follow._

_“Mi casa es su casa.”_

_“What?”_

_“Eh. Make yourself at home. What’s mine is yours and all that.”_

_The bedroom that Siobhan had led him to was just as luxurious as the rest of the house, wide sweeping windows opening to the bay below framed in billowing white curtains. The bed lay in the center of the room, circular, and draped in purple silk and large pillows. Siobhan flopped in the middle of it and watched him._

_“Why are you helping me?”_

_“Because.” Siobhan answered calmly. “You’re a Nephilim, and I’m tired of taking orders. I want the throne, and with a live wire like you on my side…I’m sure to win. So what do you say? Help me take over Hell?”_

_“You’re a demon.” Malachi said suddenly and Siobhan grinned._

_“Took you long enough.”_

_“I’ve never seen one before.”_

_Siobhan slid off the bed a hair seductively and walked purposefully to him, sliding a hand down his chest._

_“Now, Mal…Mal, Mal, Mal…I don’t know who kept you alive until now, but they certainly kept you sheltered. The world out there is dark and cruel, especially to creatures like you that shouldn’t exist. You’ve been walking around all this time in plain sight. I can teach you how to protect yourself, how to hide, how to fight…all I want is for you to fight beside me when the time comes.”_

_Malachi couldn’t bring himself to look at Siobhan, couldn’t see the churning war between his quite appealing human face and the rot and decay beneath it._

_“I will.” He said softly. “If you teach me, I will fight.”_

_Siobhan smiled, reaching up to trace Malachi’s cheek with a finger._

_“Demon deals are usually sealed with a kiss.”_

_Malachi felt an involuntary shudder ripple through his body and Siobhan laughed, fingers cupping his jaw as he turned his head. Malachi squeezed his eyes shut and turned, blindly pushing his lips against the demon’s. Siobhan tasted of ash and rot and Malachi recoiled almost immediately, shoving away from him._

_“Now,” He heard Siobhan say behind him. “The fun can start.”_

* * *

His first thought was that he was warm. He could feel it in patches, rather than all over, and when he opened his eyes he saw the sunlight dancing through the window across his bed. He spread his fingers over the familiar quilt: Bobby’s.

Crowley lifted his head, feeling his grace thrum beneath his skin in a way it hadn’t in centuries, completely unbound by Concealment or the numerous binding spells he’d used to hide from those that would end him.

What he saw both surprised him and shook him to his core.

Bobby was asleep in the chair next to the bed, shotgun draped across his chest, angel-banishing sigil scrawled onto the dresser beside him. Numerous anti-angel sigils were drawn on the walls, and he followed them until his gaze found Dean, sitting on the floor with his back to the wall next to the door, also asleep, or at least appearing to be, with a gun across his knees. Next to the window slept Sam and Gabriel, Gabriel curled up tightly against Sam’s chest, and Sam’s hands resting beneath Gabriel’s hips to hold him in his lap. A rifle rested against the window sill, and Enochian sigils were painted over the glass.

The only person missing was Castiel, but strangely, he could _feel_ Castiel. The angel’s grace, familiar from their work together years ago, moved alongside his own, healing the rips and tears still evident from the broken Concealment. His wings were carefully folded and splinted, bound with gauze to keep him from opening them.

“You’re awake.”

Dean’s voice was quiet, and no one else stirred. Crowley watched as Dean slowly got to his feet, stretching his back and sighing. He caught sight of the tips of Dean’s fingers, bloody and red, tiny pinpricks as if he’d been pushing a needle for so long it wore through the skin, and Crowley turned to catch sight of the pain-staking, straight rows of stitches on his wings.

Dean picked up the gun, then crossed the room and pressed the barrel into Crowley’s chest. Crowley immediately raised his hands in defense, holding them back placatingly.

“First things first,” He snapped, still in that quietly dangerous voice. “I’ve killed people, I’ve killed demons, and I’ve killed angels. Whatever you are, if you hurt my family, I’ll make sure you don’t see the light of another day. Are we clear?”

“Sparklingly.” Crowley murmured, staring up into the hunter’s cold eyes…which inexplicably softened as he pulled the gun away.

“Are you hungry?”

Crowley stared at Dean in surprise, the hunter obviously tense, the gun tucked under his arm.

“A little, yeah.”

Dean nodded, turning without a word, stepping out and closing the door behind him. As quiet as he had been, when the door shut, both Bobby and Sam jerked awake, Gabriel coming to when Sam moved beneath him.

“Hey,” Bobby’s voice was gruff in his ear and Crowley sat up slowly as Bobby sat next to him, laying a hand over his. He struggled not to flex his wings, but they were sore enough that he didn’t want to move them at all so he managed.

“Hello love,” Crowley greeted him warmly, turning his hand to thread their fingers together.

Out of his sight, he heard Sam cough and the rough sound of Gabriel lightly slapping his mate’s chest through layers of fabric. The realization that he was here, he was alive, and his wings were on full display…they knew what he was, and if Gabriel was here, they knew _who_ he was.

Bobby watched the panic flail through Crowley’s eyes and squeezed his hand gently. The sound of crashing pots jerked a smile from the elder hunter, and he straightened to kiss Crowley’s forehead.

“Come on, Sam, let’s go make sure Dean doesn’t burn the house down.”

Sam offered him a smile on the way out. “We’ll be right upstairs if you need anything.”

With the closing of the door, Crowley was left alone with his surrogate father. He was tense, waiting for the blow to come. He’d disappeared, he’d run away, mostly out of spite, and he’d heard how broken Gabriel had sounded even all these years after his ‘death.’

“Hey Mal,” Gabriel said softly and Crowley looked up, meeting his father’s amber gaze.

“Hello,” he said softly, still waiting for a reprimand.

The bed dipped as Gabriel sat down next to him, reaching out almost absently to let the red tips of Crowley’s feathers wander over his palms.

“Those were some pretty badass Concealments you had going there.”

Crowley was silent. He didn’t want to tell his father about Siobhan, or any of the things that led to him being here, mostly because he didn’t regret any of them.

Gabriel’s smile dipped, and then he was reaching out, his hand curling around Crowley’s cheek and Crowley leaned into the touch, turning his head to catch the scent of fire and brimstone and rain-soaked grass that had comforted him through so many years and been lost to him for even longer. For a moment he felt like he was choking, and the word he tried to hold back leapt out of him.

“Dad!”

Gabriel was there before the word had finished punching out of him, pulling him close, and Crowley let himself hide in his father’s mahogany wings.

“Shhh,” He heard Gabriel murmur. “It’s okay, I’m here. I’m not going to let anything happen to you, not ever again.”

“I thought you were ashamed of me.” Crowley whispered and Gabriel laughed.

“I could never be ashamed of you. Not sure why you’ve been shacking up as a demon, and Deano says you’ve done some pretty crappy things, but shame is a whole different story, baby boy.”

“Michael…I saw you…” Crowley whispered.

“Just a binding.” Gabriel answered quickly, gathering what he was asking about from his tone. “What about you? I saw your body burn, and this face…well, you’re not the gray-eyed kid I remember.”

Crowley chuckled lightly. “It’s just a meatsuit, a vessel,” he hurriedly corrected himself at the slight flinch in Gabriel’s eyes. “It’s a long story.”

“Why were you pretending to be a demon?” Gabriel questioned quietly, and Crowley almost smiled, having to catch himself at the last moment.

“Oh, I wasn’t pretending.”

* * *

Castiel trembled in his sleep, a light sweat breaking out over his brow as his hands clenched on empty air.

_He could feel the power coursing through him, raking away what he was and forming something new in its place. The armies around them stilled at the sight and he opened himself up to it. It was the only way to save them, to save the ones he loved. To save them, he would forget them. He could feel the memory of them shedding with his grace, and he turned, catching emerald eyes one last time._

_If this was the last time he saw through these eyes, there was only one thing he wished to see._

_Armies fell, battles won, and he looked on emerald eyes and did not know them._

“Cas?”

Castiel started awake, Dean’s hand on his shoulder to steady him and he let out a slow breath. Dean’s hand moved to his forehead in a caring gesture, and Castiel couldn’t help but lean into his cool touch.

“You’ve got a fever,” Dean said softly.

“I’m fine.” Castiel murmured. “Just tired. Crowley’s grace had nearly split, and I had to graft it with a piece of my own.”

Dean’s jaw clenched in anger and Castiel sighed, turning to lay a hand on his mate’s thigh.

“I had to, Dean.”

“You could have waited. We could’ve found another way. You didn’t have to risk yourself for _him._ ”

Castiel smiled weakly. “Yes, I did. If I had not acted as I did, as quickly as I did, the force which would’ve been released when Crowley’s grace split would’ve surpassed the devastation of an atomic bomb.”

Dean laid his hand over Castiel’s, the anger draining out of him as he ran his hand over the silver band on Castiel’s finger.

“Cas, I’m …”

“I know, Dean. It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not.” Dean sighed. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. You didn’t do anything wrong, and I…”

Castiel wrapped a hand in Dean’s shirt, pulling him down for a kiss. Dean clutched at him briefly before pulling away, tugging away the blankets so he could prod Castiel to his feet.

“Come on, I made some tomato and rice soup for you. You need to eat now, apparently.”

Castiel nodded, leaning heavily on Dean as he got to his feet, and after a few stumbling steps, he let Dean carry him to the kitchen.

* * *

 

Bobby had kicked both Dean and Sam out of his kitchen, claiming they were messing up his organization, and while Dean had gone to check on Castiel, Sam stretched out on the couch. He hadn’t slept well upstairs, the constant tension that something was about to happen was driving him mad. The feeling burned in the back of his mind, and it grew and blossomed until it felt like someone was driving a knife through the base of his skull. He covered his face with a pillow, masking the pain until he recognized it for what it was.

_Light…there was nothing but light, pouring down out of the sky and into Castiel. His wings weren’t shadows anymore, but bright, dazzling forms of light and fire and they spread out across the sky, turning night into day._

_Dean thrashed in his arms, fighting both him and Gabriel as he tried to reach his mate._

_Castiel turned and looked at them, one last time, radiance framing his form and he sought out Dean. In his eyes was an unspoken apology, and then he turned and opened himself to the light searing down from Heaven._

Sam gasped, sitting up and staring around the room as if surprised to find himself still in Bobby’s living room. The vision had seemed so real. He could still taste the air, the way it smelled and seared like the wind after lightning, still see Castiel…so broken and alone…

He got up, going to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water and found Dean standing there, Castiel slowly working on a bowl of soup. Sam recognized Dean’s trademark tomato and rice, the same soup their mother had made for him when he was sick. Dean had just finished fixing a bowl of soup to take up to Crowley.

“Let me get this up to his Majesty,” Dean quipped sardonically, rolling his eyes at Sam as he swept past and up the stairs.

Castiel looked up at him and Sam almost shuddered under the weight of the angel’s gaze.

“Cas…”

“Yes, I know.” Castiel said mournfully.

“Is that going to happen?” Sam asked quietly, reaching out to lay a hand on his brother’s shoulder. Castiel looked up at him, eyes gleaming with unshed tears.

“Don’t tell Dean.”

* * *

_Malachi grit his teeth, his hands digging into the wood of his chair as Siobhan cut the Concealment sigils into his wings. He refused to admit his pain, or the nausea that overtook him every time Siobhan cut into his grace and more of it fell away, hidden even from him._

_“There you go, love,” Siobhan purred as the last sigil fell into place and he stepped away, the silver sheen of an angel blade held loose in his hand. It was small, shaped more like a dagger than a sword, and Malachi’s own blade._

_Malachi swallowed the last pitch of nausea as the world shifted and swam before him. His wings were heavy, and his grace entirely distant._

_“Can you see me?”_

_Malachi grit his teeth and turned his head, waiting for his vision to clear before he looked at Siobhan, but he only saw the sun-haired youth Siobhan had taken as a vessel._

_“…no..” he gasped, trying to stand and nearly falling under the weight of his wings._

_“Easy there,” Siobhan helped him to his feet. “The magic’s going to be heavy at first, but it’ll get easier to carry.”_

_“Are you going to tell me it’ll get easier as I get stronger?” Malachi complained and Siobhan laughed._

_“Well, now I don’t have to tell you. You need a new meatsuit though. I’ll work on that. You rest.”_

_Siobhan nearly shoved him onto the bed, twirling the blade through his fingers as he wandered out of the room. Malachi tried to raise his head, the weight of his wings choking him, but Siobhan was gone._

* * *

The day wasted away, Castiel’s strength slowly returning and he ended up on the couch with Dean, watching the first Star Wars film with Simon between them. Bobby fell asleep in his recliner, and Sam headed upstairs. Gabriel hadn’t left Crowley’s side since he’d woken up, and Sam was immediately hushed as he came in.

Crowley was asleep once again, his head resting in Gabriel’s lap, and Sam could just see in the shadows where Gabriel had a wing curled around his son.

“I’m sure this must be really weird for you,” Gabriel said softly and Sam shrugged, half-falling into the seat by the bed.

“Archangel boyfriend brings home the King of Hell, who happens to be his adopted half-angel son from millennia ago, which means he’s sort of my stepson? You know, Gabe, some guys just bring their boyfriends flowers.”

Gabriel smiled. “Since when did I ever do anything normal?”

Sam chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m cool with it, just so you know. It may take me a bit to warm up to him, because, well, bad blood and all…but if he’s your son…that’s all I need to know.”

Gabriel blew Sam a kiss before looking back down at Crowley, threading his fingers through his hair.

“I can’t believe he’s here, Sam. I saw him burn. He shouldn’t have survived, and yet…he did.”

Sam smiled, taking in the euphoric look on Gabriel’s face. “Yeah. It’s great.”

Gabriel shook his head. “It’s more than that, Sam. I haven’t had a reason to believe in my Dad for centuries. Longer. And yet, by some miracle…I have my son back.”

He looked up with tears in his eyes and Sam was instantly at his side, placing one hand on the bed as he leaned over to kiss Gabriel. Gabriel slid his arms around Sam’s shoulders, and between them, Crowley shifted, his wing falling across Sam’s hand.

“Sam?” Gabriel cried when Sam pulled away from him, cursing as a white-hot pain bored straight through his forehead. Sam fell to his knees, and Gabriel half-fell off the bed in his urgency to reach his mate.

“Sam, talk to me! What’s happening?”

Sam shook his head, trying to talk, but he suddenly gagged as a wave of nausea overtook him. Gabriel touched his forehead and Sam felt grace pour through him. For a moment, the pain dimmed but the moment Gabriel’s grace was gone, the pain returned with a vengeance.

Gabriel reached for Sam again but Sam waved his hand away, shaking his head quickly. “No, no, don’t.”

Sam gagged again and Gabriel felt panic course through him. A thousand prayers ran through his head, but only one got to his throat.

“DEAN!”

* * *

_Months passed and Malachi studied ancient spells in Enochian, both in its pure form and the perverted dialect Hell had adapted for its use. He didn’t need to sleep, nor did Siobhan, but Siobhan had an affinity for sleeping. One of Earth’s many pleasures, or so he said. Still, Malachi ignored his vessel’s preferences in exchange for absorbing tome after tome of the vast knowledge the world seemed eager to offer. He learned how to manage his vessel, the new one with which Siobhan had provided him. It was younger, and agile. The man’s name had been Fergus, but his soul no longer resided in the body. Siobhan wouldn’t go into detail as to how it had departed._

_His wings didn’t get any lighter, but he hardly moved anyway. When he got up to get another book, or eat, or anything, he let them drag on the ground behind him. No point in keeping them out of the muck if no one could see them._

_He smelled the alcohol on Siobhan before he even reached the terrace where Malachi was reading. Malachi looked up from his book as Siobhan leaned against the door frame, smirking._

_“Come here, Mal. I want to show you something.”_

_Malachi set his book down and followed Siobhan to the main bedroom in the villa. Siobhan tripped and stumbled near the bed and laughed as he caught himself, leering at Malachi through his drunken stupor._

_“Come here,”_

_Malachi drew closer to him but before he got there, Siobhan lunged forward and Malachi had to dive to catch him before he hit the floor. Siobhan twisted and Malachi yelped as they hit the floor. Siobhan rolled him onto his stomach and straddled his upper thighs, both hands pressed to his back between his shoulder blades._

_Malachi huffed, twitching his wings and glaring back over his shoulder at Siobhan. “Did you want to show me the floor?”_

_“Among other things.”_

_Siobhan’s hands smoothed down his back and Malachi shifted under the stifling weight of his wings. He felt Siobhan’s hands curl around the base of his right wing, and choked down bile, the demon’s hand sliding over his wing like oil._

_“I’ve told you not to touch my wings.” He complained. “I don’t like it.”_

_“It’s the weirdest feeling.” Siobhan spoke as if he hadn’t heard. “I can’t see them, or even really feel them, but I know there’s something beneath my hand.”_

_“Get off.”_

_“No.”_

_Malachi stiffened beneath Siobhan, feeling the demon’s hips rock against his own, and growled. He tried to pull his wing out of Siobhan’s grasp, but they were too heavy for him to shake the demon’s grip. Siobhan’s hand closed around the joint of his wing and Malachi hissed as he heard the bone crack. Pain and nausea spread through him and Malachi froze, trembling under the combined weight of Siobhan and his wings. He was stiff, chills rippling down his body as a cold sweat beaded on his skin. Siobhan slid a hand down his side and Malachi jerked away when the hand curved over the swell of his ass. Siobhan’s hand tightened on his wing and Malachi bit back another pained cry. In the wake of his disorientation, Siobhan pulled up his robe, revealing bare skin. The demon’s weight shifted and Malachi seized his chance, thrashing his wings and bucking up to try and dislodge Siobhan from above him._

_For a second, it seemed like he’d managed to break free for Siobhan’s hands released his wings and his weight vanished._

_Siobhan’s voice was rough and guttural as he spat two words into the space between them and Malachi felt the air crackle with power as Siobhan grabbed each of his wings and shoved him to the floor. Malachi’s scream was muffled by the speed in which Siobhan shoved his face into the cold stone, blood spurting from his lips and nose. His wings were pinned to the floor. He shivered when Siobhan tore his robe, the cold night air peppering his skin. Malachi screamed when Siobhan mercilessly shoved three fingers inside him and had to focus on breathing with his face pressed tight against the cold stone._

_It wasn’t the last time he screamed that night._

_When Siobhan finally released him, Malachi shoved himself shakily onto his hands and knees. Siobhan was leaning against the bed, naked with a slight sheen of sweat on his skin. He glistened in the moonlight, and Malachi felt sick._

_“Next time, maybe you’ll be strong enough to fight me off.”_

_Next time._

* * *

Sam groaned as Dean manhandled him onto the spare bed he’d been sharing with Cas, and Castiel was quick to take his place at Sam’s side. His hands brushed over Sam’s face and Sam thrashed briefly.

“Cas!” Dean yelped as Castiel pressed two hands to Sam’s chest, holding him down. “What’s happening to him? Is it the demon blood? Did we do something wrong?”

It had been six months since the spell they did to fix Sam, but maybe it took that long. Castiel shook his head quickly.

“No, he’s having a vision. A particularly violent post-cognitive vision.”

Dean scrowled. “Post…that’s like, seeing the past, right?”

Castiel nodded, once again pressing his palm to Sam’s forehead. “I can’t stop it. It’s too much.”

“But Sam isn’t psychic…”

“Yes, he is,” Castiel explained patiently. “He’s always been a powerful psychic, but the demon blood both hindered and mutated his growth. The ritual we performed to cleanse him of the demon blood must’ve reset his psychic abilities.”

“So he’s seeing stuff.”

Dean clenched his jaw when Castiel nodded, the angel smoothing Sam’s hair back and tracing an unreadable pattern on his forehead. Sam let out a low whine, lifting his head as if to press into Castiel’s hands.

“Cas…” Gabriel breathed. “Did I do this?”

Dean’s head snapped up and he glared at the archangel. “What’d you mean?”

Gabriel made a wild, helpless gesture towards his brother and mate.

“I was upstairs with Malachi and Sam came in and he kissed me and then this.”

Castiel’s laugh broke the sudden tension. “No, brother, you did not do this. I believe Sam is simply picking up on the energy that is surrounding Crowley as he heals. The energy he’s giving off is palpable, I’m surprised you can’t sense it.”

Gabriel sighed. “Must be written into the binding or something. I have a hard time seeing his true face if I’m not looking for it.”

“When I am complete, I will remove that for you.” Castiel said firmly then placed two fingers to Sam’s forehead, stilling the younger Winchester’s pained gasps. “Hopefully he will dream the rest and wake when the vision has passed.”

* * *

_The sound of howls broke Malachi from his sleep and a second later, he felt hands on his back, pulling him out of bed. He twisted, catching Siobhan across the jaw and Siobhan almost grinned, a flash of pride in his eyes before another howl chased it away and replaced it with fear. Malachi felt a twist in his stomach that he hadn’t felt in decades._

_“Siobhan?”_

_“We have to run, Mal. Now.”_

_Malachi didn’t hesitate, dressing himself with a snap as Siochan shoved herb bags and other various implements for guarding their passage. He looked up and met his teacher’s gaze, and the next second they were on a snowy mountain east of Constantinople._

_“Siobhan, what are we running from?” Malachi asked above the roar of the wind, stepping forward and laying a hand on his shoulder._

_“Hellhounds.”_

_Malachi drew a sharp breath, remembering all the stories Siobhan had told him of how the Hounds came for the souls he’d bartered into Hell._

_“Why are they after us?”_

_Siobhan laughed brokenly. “I haven’t exactly been making regular reports.”_

_“Since when?”_

_“Since you.”_

_Malachi ran a hand over his face, turning away from Siobhan. Centuries then, which made him surprised that they hadn’t run into this problem before._

_“Why do you think I move us so often?”_

_Malachi only got to see Siobhan’s eyes widen before something closed around his leg and then he watched as Hounds descended on his teacher. They didn’t bother trying to drag him down. They simply tore him apart._

_No spell he could think of or utilize worked against the Hellhounds, and he couldn’t draw his blade with his grace bound so tightly. They tore at his vessel, leaving long gashes in his true form, and his last thought before he succumbed to darkness was that at least he’d gotten to see the end of Siobhan before he died._

* * *

Dean’s hands flew over Crowley’s still broken wings, pulling out the now unnecessary stitches while the King of Hell was still unconscious. He felt cold, distant. Sam was downstairs having a minor freak out because of his old-new psychic powers, Bobby was avoiding everyone by taking care of Simon, Castiel was watching over Sam, and Gabriel was outside double-checking the angel wards.

He was tired. It wasn’t a physical tired. Only Cas knew that he hadn’t slept in two days, and was doing just fine. It was a mental, an emotional tired. All this crap that had hit the fan in the past two days, and here he was piecing _Crowley_ back together.

“Shit!”

The edge of one of Crowley’s feathers caught him, slicing his hand wide open. Dean cursed, clenching his fist as he glanced up at the door then back down at the unconscious demon/Nephilim. He opened his hand, glaring at the wound.

“I don’t have time for this shit.”

He glared at the wound and concentrated until a small glow covered the edges of the wound, knitting the flesh back together and in a second, all evidence of the cut was gone.

* * *

Castiel was quiet as he watched Sam, paying close attention to the younger Winchester’s vitals as the visions wracked through him. It had only been a few days since he’d recovered the memories Michael took from him, but Castiel already felt like he was lying to those around him. He couldn’t tell Dean just how cold and empty he felt, his grace draining away, and his head full of the cruel knowledge of the inevitable. He knew now why the Seraph had unnerved Gabriel as he grew. With all the knowledge flooding him, he had to fight to keep from distancing himself from those around him.

He left Sam’s side, drifting down to panic room and Castiel gathered his sleeping son into his arms. Simon stirred briefly, turning to curl his hands in Castiel’s shirt, blinking twice before he drifted off to sleep once more. He was big, almost two years old now, and every day Castiel thought he looked more like Jimmy. He could see Amelia in the softness of Simon’s jaw, the slightly lighter tone of his hair, but for the rest, he was the spitting image of James Novak.

_You are going to be amazing_

Castiel whispered the words in angelic song, leaning down so his lips just brushed Simon’s ear. Simon stirred in his arms, blue eyes blinking open and looked up at Castiel curiously.

_My beautiful son my baby bird_

Castiel sang to him and Simon smiled, reaching up to place a hand on Castiel’s forehead.

“Da,”

“Did he just speak?”

Castiel turned, tensing briefly but relaxing when he saw Dean in the doorway. Dean quickly crossed over to him, laying his hand over Simon’s head. Simon smiled brightly and reached up for him. Castiel passed him easily into Dean’s arms, and Simon repeated his previous gesture, placing a hand on Dean’s forehead.

“Da.” Simon said triumphantly and Dean gave a small cry, eyes lighting up with pride and joy.

“How?”

“He can hear my angelic voice, as it’s energy and thought, not sound.” Castiel explained. “I’ve been teaching him.”

Dean laughed as Simon tugged himself up to wrap his arms around Dean’s neck, closing his eyes once more to sleep.

“Cas…you’re amazing.”

Dean turned his head, ducking down to press his cheek against Simon’s, and he didn’t see the flash of sadness in Castiel’s eyes.

“Dean, let’s go home. Please.”

Dean glanced up, his gaze narrowing in concern at the desperation in Castiel’s voice.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Let’s just make sure Sammy’s okay, then we’ll go.”

Castiel nodded. “All right.”

* * *

_The light was dim when he woke, a steady drip just by his ear jerking him from sleep. However, it was a piercing scream that truly woke him, a terrified woman begging for help, and Malachi tried to lunge up. Instead, he barely moved at all, held fast to a cross-like contraption by thick leather straps, strange sigils carved into them. He was naked, a strap over his chest, waist, thighs, and calves. Thick chains held his arms out to either side, palms up. A metal loop was around his throat, tight but not enough to constrict his breathing, and another leather strap lay across his forehead. The only parts of his body he could move were his toes, fingers, and eyelids._

_“Now, now, my dear,” A soothing female voice reached him just as he began to shiver from the cold. She entered from somewhere to his right, carrying a single torch. The firelight bounced off the dark but luminescent walls of roughly hewn stone, and Malachi sucked in a breath as he caught sight of a mangled body not six feet from him. It was hung on a rack similar to his own, but upright rather that flat. The steady drip he’d heard was that of blood, ever falling from the corpse’s still lips._

_The…woman?...ignored him completely, crossing over to the corpse. “We can’t have that, now can we?”_

_She touched the corpse and Malachi jumped when it screamed, the wounds melting away, skin regrowing and muscle reknitting until it was whole again._

_“Siobhan!” Malachi tried to shout, but he couldn’t move his mouth with the leather strap over his chin._

_Siobhan’s eyes darted around, and Malachi watched as fear filled them up until they settled on him. Siobhan looked at him with desperate hope and something like regret._

_“Lilith, let him go. He didn’t sell his soul, you have no right to him.”_

_The woman shrugged, twirling a knife through her fingers. “He was working with you. Close enough.”_

_“Lilith! You have me! He’s just a kid, what could he possibly give you?”_

_She laughed, the knife coming to a stop and suddenly slamming down, piercing straight through Malachi’s calf. Malachi hissed and whined around his bindings, breathing heavy, his eyes wide. He cast about quickly until he found Siobhan’s gaze once more, but Siobhan dropped his head, staring at the floor._

_Malachi felt the first seeds of hate for his mentor suddenly burst from their long dormancy, first sewn the night Siobhan had raped him. If this was Hell, it was Siobhan’s fault he was here. Siobhan who had dragged him down, made him this. He had been promised Heaven. This was what he was given._

_He lost track of how much time passed. Lilith never spoke to him, only to Siobhan. Sometimes she’d torture Siobhan, sometimes she’d torture him, and sometimes she’d come in and just stand there. One morning, or what Malachi referred to as morning, usually the beginning of Lilith’s trysts, and evening was when she finally left him alone again, one morning Lilith came to his side, laid the knife on his stomach, and sat down next to him. Her fingertips played gently down the length of his arm, up over his shoulder and throat, brushing his chest and stomach, glancing over his cock, and down to rest on his thigh._

_“You’re pretty, for a human.”_

_Malachi laughed. She still didn’t know what he was. He had to be grateful, if Siobhan’s Concealments had held this long._

_“I’d be even prettier covered in my own blood.” He whispered, snark and sarcasm sometimes the only things that got him through her sessions without screaming._

_“Agreed,” She laughed. When did he actually come to think her laugh was beautiful? “But you’d be even prettier covered in his.”_

_Lilith gestured over to Siobhan, then down to the knife resting on his stomach. “Want to play with me, Fergus?”_

_The restraints clicked open. The leather straps fell and Malachi wrapped his hand around the silver handle. He almost fell when he first stood up, and for the first time in centuries, the weight of his wings was almost inconsequential. They still dragged the floor, but as he crossed the room, he could feel feathers shearing off. Lilith didn’t notice, focused on guiding him over to Siobhan. With every step, he felt stronger, more secure, and felt more hate than he ever had before._

_He couldn’t do it._

_Siobhan was his rapist and the reason he was in Hell, but he was also his friend and mentor. He couldn’t raise the knife._

_“It helps,” Lilith purred in his ear. “To picture someone you hate. Truly hate.”_

_He couldn’t hate Siobhan. He couldn’t…then a flash of light behind his eyes caught his memory, the burning power of a creature beyond him, tearing his father away from him, and scorching him out of his own body, forcing him into a meatsuit like some common demon._

_Malachi leaned up, pressing his lips against Siobhan’s one last time and sliding the knife between his ribs._

_Centuries passed, and he flew through the ranks with skill and imagination. You needed more than just brutality to excel here. You needed to be clever, and clever he was. Of course, being Lilith’s favorite pet didn’t hurt._

_“Congratulations on the new meatsuit, sir.”_

_“Yes,” he smirked, on Earth once more. He kicked his heels up on the desk of his meatsuit’s library, a book folded open on his lap. “A nice little literary agent out of New York, but I like this accent better.”_

_“Very good, sir.”_

_“Fergus,” Lilith purred, catching sight of his new meatsuit and she drew one nail down his cheek, smiling appreciatively. “I like it.”_

_“Don’t call me that anymore.” He snapped and Lilith raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow. He set the book down on the table, thinking of an entry near the front. ‘…an Angel who did not fall so much as saunter vaguely downwards.’_

_“Call me Crowley.”_

* * *

The sun was streaming in through the curtains, casting a soft glow around the room, which meant it had to be near sunset. Sam shifted, pressing a hand to his still-pounding forehead, but at least the vision was over. Unlike his visions pre-demon blood, he could remember this one with stark clarity and detail. He could still smell the sulfur of Hell, the cut of the knife, and the blind desperation.

“Sam?”

He recognized Castiel’s firm but gentle grip on his shoulders as he sat up. His head swam with the simple motion, and he blindly reached out for the angel.

“Cas…gonna throw up…”

He felt rather than heard Castiel’s wings unfurl and then he was on his knees in the bathroom, puking up what felt like his very soul. Castiel held his hair back, rubbing soothing circles over his back.

“I saw everything,” Sam gasped when he could breathe again, taking the glass of water Castiel offered him and rinsing his mouth out. “From the moment Michael attacked Malachi and Gabriel until he became Crowley. It was…awful, Cas.”

Castiel nodded, kneeling next to him on the bathroom floor. Sam leaned into his touch, closing his eyes as Castiel ran his hands through his hair, comforting.

“I can’t tell Gabriel. I can’t…”

He felt Castiel’s lips against his temple and let his head fall against his brother’s chest.

“It’s okay, Sam.” He heard Castiel murmur. “You don’t have to tell him anything.”

* * *

Bobby sat next to Crowley, watching him stoically. In just the past couple of hours, Crowley seemed to have taken a turn for the worse. He was shivering, a light sheen of sweat covering his skin, but no amount of blankets could take the chill from him. The last of his feathers seemed to be falling out in droves, and Crowley’s hand was wound tightly in his now that they were alone.

“I’m sorry,” Crowley said softly. “You don’t deserve this.”

“Shut up,” Bobby returned, gruff but fond. “I’m too old for your shit.”

Crowley smiled, burrowing further into the blankets.

* * *

“We’ll be back in the morning,” Castiel was explaining to Gabriel as Bobby came down the stairs. Dean had Simon on his hip, and the couple looked more like a family than they had in days. Simon spotted him, and switched the well-worn stuffed bee that he’d gotten for his first birthday from one hand to the other so he could wave enthusiastically at Bobby.

“You’re leaving?”

Castiel turned to him and nodded. “Dean needs to rest, and the house is crowded with all of us here. Crowley and Sam are both healing, so there is nothing more we can do here. If something happens…”

“I’ll call.” Gabriel finished, clapping his brother on the shoulder.

“I’ll be listening.” Castiel offered him a smile, but it seemed a bit off to Bobby.

Simon wrapped both arms around his bee, and nudged Dean’s chin with his head. Dean smiled automatically, bumping Simon back, causing the young boy to giggle.

“See you in the morning then.” Bobby shrugged. “I might even make breakfast.”

Dean laughed as Castiel took his hand, and they left to the sound of wings. Gabriel shrugged when Bobby looked to him for an explanation.

“It’s hard to find time to screw with six grown men in one house with only two bedrooms.”

* * *

Sam slid upstairs, leaning heavily on the railing until he reached Crowley’s room. He dragged the chair over to the side of the bed, not meeting Crowley’s curious gaze. The fallen monarch glared at him through half-lidded eyes as he sat down, and Sam grimaced as his head had not quite yet given up its pounding.

“Hello Sam,” Crowley drawled sleepily and Sam nodded in answer.

“I know about Siobhan.”

Crowley’s eyes snapped open and he shoved himself up. Even with the moose slumped and him sitting up straight, he wasn’t quite at eye level with Sam. An annoying point, but irrelevant.

“What, precisely, do you think you know?”

“Everything.” Sam turned to him as he spoke and Crowley knew he wasn’t bluffing. He actually knew everything. He didn’t know how, but he knew.

The silence stretched on between them until Sam let out a low sigh.

“A few months ago, when Kali was controlling me, making me drink demon blood…I just want you to know, what he did, I know what it felt like. You’re not alone.”

Crowley let himself fall back against the bed, too tired to care that his wing was pinched roughly underneath him. Everything hurt now, it wasn’t worth moving.

“Is this the part where we hold hands and bond?” he sniped, closing his eyes.

He was almost asleep when he felt Sam’s hand close over his, his own fingers traitorously curling around the hunter’s.

* * *

Dean and Castiel spent most of the evening in the living room with Simon, the young boy going back and forth between the two of them with different toys and finally he crawled up on the couch between them with his preferred bedtime story, _Peter Pan._ Dean usually read it to him, but tonight he passed it to Castiel. Castiel smiled, leaning into Dean’s side and Dean slipped an arm around him as Simon balanced between them, half in Dean’s lap and half in Castiel’s with the book open before him.

Dean felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as Castiel quietly sang the story to him, watching the wonder and joy on Simon’s face as he truly _heard_ the story for the first time. Castiel sang until Simon was slumped against his side, drooling adorably onto Castiel’s grey t-shirt. Dean put the book away as Castiel carried Simon to bed, sneaking in behind him and wrapping his arms around his waist.

“Mine,”

Castiel murmured his assent, leaning back against Dean’s chest.

“You enjoy being a father.”

“Yeah,” Dean laughed quietly, glancing around the nursery. “I really do. I always kinda hoped, when I was young, that we’d find Mom’s killer soon and I’d get to settle down. I wanted a huge family, as many kids as I could convince my wife to have.”

Castiel turned in his arms, pressing a light kiss to his chin. “And how many do you think you could convince me to have?”

“I could convince you to do anything,” Dean smiled, turning his head to kiss Castiel’s jaw and then dipped lower, peppering his soon-to-be husband’s throat with his lips.

“I’m glad,” Castiel whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “I’m glad you feel that way.”

Castiel laughed when Dean swept him up into his arms, carrying him into the bedroom and tossing him none too lightly on the bed. Dean was reaching to pull his shirt over his head when it disappeared along with the rest of his and Castiel’s clothing.

“Patience is a virtue, Cas,” he teased, easing onto the bed above Castiel.

“Not today it’s not,” Castiel hissed, wrapping his legs around Dean’s waist and pulling him close.

They slid together with the ease that came with spending nearly two years doing just this, but Dean could tell something was different about this night. Castiel clung to him a little too hard, dug his heels in a little too deep. Beyond the initial, Castiel didn’t try to hurry him and Dean slowed down, drawing out the moment.

“Dean, do you trust me?”

Dean stilled for a moment, looking up to meet Castiel’s gaze, already glazed with his grace.

“Always.”

Castiel nodded slowly, pressing his hands to Dean’s chest. Dean grimaced slightly at the pressure but just as soon as it was there, it was gone. He gasped as Castiel began to glow beneath him, and he could feel Castiel’s grace curling through him, reaching deeper and deeper inside him until…

“Ah fuck,” He breathed, his forehead falling against Castiel’s, hips rolling slightly as Castiel’s grace coiled against his soul. In the same way as their bodies, Castiel’s grace entwined with his soul; every touch drew out the same sensations, but it was so much more pronounced. Every brush was like an orgasm in itself, and Castiel slid alongside his soul with torturous precision until Dean was sure he was going to die from pleasure.

Castiel’s grace reached to fill the torn places in his soul and Dean whimpered, his soul reaching automatically back to Castiel and for a split second, his soul slid inside Castiel’s grace and every thought in his mind blanked out.

When Dean opened his eyes again, he was prostrate on Castiel’s chest, both of them covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Castiel was smiling even as he breathed heavy through an open mouth, tears dewy on his eyelashes.

“Cas…” Dean laughed breathlessly. “What the hell was that?”

“That,” Castiel explained, chuckling lightly. “Is how angels engage in intercourse.”

“Fuck, we should do that more often. Why have we not done that before?” Dean complained, rolling so Castiel lay against his chest. Castiel set his chin on Dean’s sternum, smirking.

“Well, I wasn’t sure if it might make you explode, but since you’ve been feeding off my grace and even making some of your own, I was fairly sure we could copulate…”

“…without exploding?” Dean laughed. “Awesome.”

They lay there quietly for a little while, Castiel listening to Dean’s heartbeat as it slowly returned to its normal pace.

“Dean?”

“Hm?”

“I need to ask something of you, something important. I need you to listen.”

“Should’ve tried before the mind-blowing sex.”

“Dean.”

Dean opened his eyes, shifting to eye Castiel curiously. “What is it?”

“There’s something I need you to do, and only you who can do it.”

Dean nodded slowly sitting up and Castiel moved smoothly to sit next to him.

“Okay, Cas.” He started again, all business. “What do you need me to do?”

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the chapter? Join us as askxsaviorverse.tumblr.com for more antics from the boys!


	7. Ashes

* * *

_Four months earlier..._

* * *

“I think Sam’s having the time of his life right now.”

Sam and Gabriel seemed to be enjoying the honeymoon phase of their relationship, delving into all points of the world and even bending time, going as far as Gabriel’s Grace could safely take them. If they went too far, Castiel wasn’t above yanking them back.

Castiel smiled up at Dean, spreading the blanket out on the lawn for Simon. Dean didn’t see the point; Simon wasn’t going to stay on it. Ever since the kid learned to walk, he didn’t slow down. In fact, the moment Dean set him down, Simon pushed himself to his feet and waddled over to the patch of waving daffodils. A few bees buzzed around Castiel’s garden, but Simon didn’t seem the slightest bit fazed.

Castiel worried his bottom lip, watching their son delve deeper into the garden.

“Dean, what if he gets stung? What if he’s allergic?”

Dean wrapped an arm around Castiel’s waist and kissed his cheek. “Then you use your angel mojo to heal him and he learns not to mess with bees. Relax. Dirt is good for kids.”

Castiel cast another worried glance towards their son and Dean gave him a gentle squeeze.

“He can’t go outside the wards of the backyard. You triple-checked them. It’s okay.”

At last, Castiel relaxed and nodded, pulling away from Dean and stretching. Sam had apparently been shopping, because Dean would never have bought the form-fitting shirt and yoga pants that Castiel now wore. He wasn’t complaining about the view though, as the pants were low-slung across Castiel’s hips, and when he lifted his arms, his shirt rode up to reveal those perfect, bitable hipbones.

“Okay, enough with the striptease,” Dean said huskily, shifting in his own jeans and t-shirt.

Castiel laughed, watching Simon to note that their son had sat down in the middle of the garden and was building a castle in the dark dirt.

“Alright, tell me again what you did against Ruby.”

Dean shrugged, slipping his hands in his pockets. “Like I said, I didn’t really know what I was doing. I was dying, and it just happened.”

“Describe how it felt.”

Dean shrugged again, staring at the ground. Castiel sat down cross-legged on the blanket and Dean sat across from him, shoulders slumping as he recalled how he felt fighting Ruby, the priest’s thin body holding him down like it was nothing, the burn of his lungs as he fought for air.

“I was choking, and I was desperate.” he started again. “I remember feeling warm, almost hot.”

“Was it situated in any one area?”

Dean closed his eyes, remembering. “It started in my shoulder, but moved down to my chest. Once it was in my chest, it got really hot.”

“Did it hurt?”

“No.” Dean shook his head for emphasis. “Just hot.”

“All right. Put your hand against mine.”

Castiel raised his hand as if he were offering Dean a high-five. Dean shifted closer to him so their legs were just brushing and placed his hand against Castiel’s.

“I’m going to push my Grace against you. I want you to try and push it back.”

Dean nodded quickly, focusing on their joined hands. He felt the familiar prickle of Castiel’s Grace against his palm and took a deep breath, trying to relax. Unsurprisingly, the warmth spread down from his fingertips to his lower arm then all the way to his bicep in seconds.

“Dean?”

“I’m trying.” Dean snapped, setting his jaw and concentrating.

Still nothing happened and Castiel’s Grace spread to his shoulder. A slight sweat broke out on his forehead and Dean could hear his heart pounding in his ears, his breath as loud as the wind. The spread of Castiel’s Grace had almost reached his stomach when a different warmth bloomed in his chest and he _pushed_. Castiel’s Grace trembled and slowed, crawling back up into his chest and up into his shoulder. Dean was breathing heavy as he spread his own Grace down and out his arm until it was all he could feel.

He was gasping for breath when Castiel pulled his hand away, but the warmth in his chest stayed, burning hot and spreading all the way through him. When he looked up, Castiel was staring at him in wonder.

“This is incredible. I thought you were feeding off my Grace, but...”

“But what, Cas?” Dean was surprised at the sound of his voice, gravelled and worn as if he’d been running for miles.

“It seems the pieces of my Grace that fused with your soul during our bonding have begun to grow of their own accord, no doubt because of my moulting. In a way, you’re part angel now.”

Dean grinned, laughing lightly. “Are you saying I have angel inside me?”

Castiel smirked. “Well, not at the moment, but you could...”

Dean laughed and tackled his mate to the grass. It didn’t take much strength at all for Castiel to reverse their positions, and then his mouth was flooded with the fiery taste of Castiel’s tongue. He slid his hands through Castiel’s thick hair, the longer strands now curling at the ends, comfortably warm with the weight of Castiel above him.

Castiel suddenly pulled away, laughing, and Dean laughed when he saw why. Simon had gotten in on the game and jumped on Castiel’s back. Castiel turned carefully so Dean could lift Simon from his back, rolling to curl Simon protectively in his arms even as he tickled him. Simon’s laughter pealed out over the yard and Dean blew a raspberry on his son’s unprotected stomach, invoking a loud squeal from Simon and a laugh from Castiel.

Dean leaned up, pecking Castiel’s lips. “Rain check.”

Castiel’s brow furrowed for a moment before comprehension dawned and he nodded. “Yes. We will continue later.”

Dean glanced down to see Simon looking up expectantly, lips pursed. Dean laughed and kissed his son’s forehead. They spent the rest of the afternoon gathering the flowers that Simon brought them until the sun began to set. Dean watched the day end with Simon resting against his chest and his head in Castiel’s lap, his mate’s fingers playing soothingly through his hair.

It was perfect.

* * *

_Present_

* * *

“You _lost_ him!?”

Samael glanced up at the demon rampaging around zis office, but spared her no further thought. Her intel that the King of Hell was a Nephilim had come at a price, and now ze was without orders, without the masterful plan that zis king had constructed. The last thing ze’d expected was for the archangel, Gabriel, to appear and assist the fallen Nephilim, to claim him as his son, and for the Winchesters to assist as well.

Ze would have had to contact the Winchesters sooner or later, as the Seraph lay within their borders of control, but this was too soon. It was all off now.

“Do you know what he will do to me because you fucked up?” Nicolai swept an arm across zis desk, the goblet of blood going flying and Samael was forced to look up and present Nicolai with zis full attention.

“Crowley is a monster, a cold, calculating bastard and he’s going to turn me into his next pet project. I am _not_ ending up like Meghiera and...”

Samael’s face was a platitudinal remark on just how much Nicolai’s worry disinterested zim, flat lines and annoyance flashing to anger in an instant as Samael reared zis hand back and slapped Nicolai across the jaw. Nicolai spun boneless and collapsed to the floor, coughing blood through her broken jaw and Samael stood smoothly, walking around zis desk and shoving Nicolai over onto her back. Ze knelt down, grasping Nicolai harshly by the throat and pressing her into the floor.

“You ever speak to me like that again, and you’re going to learn how Heaven kept the universe’s most powerful creatures on a leash.”

Nicolai swallowed hard, her eyes wide and frightened as Samael looked her over, a plan forming in zis eyes. A smile spread over zis face, and Samael slowly tugged the hem of Nicolai’s shirt out of her pants, pressing zis hand to the firm skin of her stomach.

Nicolai screamed.

* * *

Sunlight played in through the window, despite the curtains being drawn and the fact that the house faced north, not east. It was like the universe was conspiring to steal his morning from him, and Dean sighed, pressing his face more firmly into Castiel’s hair. The angel was pulled back tight against his chest, snoring softly, and Dean had to admit that while he didn’t like the circumstances surrounding why Castiel suddenly had to eat and sleep, it was nice to wake up _with_ his fiance for once.

Dean shifted up onto his elbow to chance a glance at Castiel’s face. The angel’s lips were parted slightly, hair curling wildly in all directions, and behind closed lids, dreams darted. Dean pressed a small kiss just behind Castiel’s ear, and the angel stirred in protest of being woken, shifting his wings to cover his face. Dean laughed to himself and slid out from under the warmth of the blankets, stretching in the sunlight.

Castiel promised not to care what shape his body was in, but Dean still liked to keep up a workout, even if his hunting days seemed to be getting further and further behind him. While Sam would usually go for a run at obscene hours in the morning, Dean would hide in the basement with the hunting gear and do some light work. Of course, for the past few months, this had also included the exercises Castiel had given him to strengthen his Grace.

He had learned not only to repel Castiel’s Grace, but to reach out for his angel’s. He could sense Gabriel now, and then had been the real fun. His and Castiel’s “date nights” had actually been hunts. They would go flying, and Castiel would let Dean seek out a demon with only his Grace, land, and then Dean got to practice smiting. It wasn’t something Castiel thought he’d be capable of, but after the fourth run, even Dean was willing to admit it wasn’t a fluke.

The mission Castiel had given him the night before was buzzing in his mind this morning and he sighed, heading downstairs and shifting his weight as he waited, focusing inward until warmth bloomed in his chest, strong and familiar. He didn’t go through his usual exercises, as he needed to keep up his strength. This morning, Dean was content with the nearly searing burn inside him that was a mix of Castiel’s Grace and his own.

Becoming something more than human had never felt so right.

Castiel was still asleep when Dean came upstairs so Dean pulled the door to their room shut and slipped into Simon’s nursery. The toddler was awake and grinned brightly upon seeing him, holding his arms out to be picked up.

“Da!”

Dean grinned, scooping Simon up into his arms. “There’s my champ. You obviously slept well. You hungry?”

“Da!”

Simon stretched to touch his forehead and Dean frowned as his son’s face fell. His Grace was still burning brightly in his chest, so he took a deep breath to calm the constant roll of it, and reached out.

_Simon?_

Simon’s thoughts burst wild and bright with color and images of him and Castiel even as Simon beamed up at him, clapping his hands together. When the images slowed, Dean saw a clear image of Castiel coupled with the press of a question.

“Oh, um...Cas is asleep.” Dean answered then offered Simon the image of Castiel in bed sleeping.

Simon immediately responded with an image of Dean going to wake Castiel and Dean laughed, shaking his head.

“Nah, we’re gonna let him sleep. Come on, I can totally fix breakfast.”

Simon’s response was a skeptical image of Dean in the kitchen and Dean laughed. “I can!”

Dean tickled Simon on the way to the kitchen before slipping him into the high chair and ruffling his hair.

“Just you watch. I used to cook breakfast for your Uncle Sam all the time. ‘Course, it was usually cereal, but you get the Dean Winchester special: chocolate chip pancakes and eggs.”

He headed to the refrigerator, pulling out Simon’s sippy cup full of milk, as well as eggs and pancake mix. He offered Simon his cup, which he eagerly took, and Dean paused for a moment to get a pot of coffee started. Simon never took his eyes off Dean as he moved through the kitchen, getting a bowl from the cabinet and a whisk from the drawer that only took him three tries to find. It wasn’t his fault Castiel rarely let him cook anything.

Dean hummed Metallica as he mixed vanilla, a bit of sugar, and chocolate chips into the pancake mix, a pan heating on the stove. Simon picked up on his good mood, bouncing in his chair. Dean was caught off guard by his phone ringing where he’d left it on the counter to charge and he hopped over, picking it up.

“Yep?”

Sam’s voice floated through to him, sounding tired. _“Morning. Where are you guys?”_

“Cas is sleeping in and I’m making breakfast for me and the little man. Cas was just wiped out with everything going on.”

Sam hesitated before responding and Dean frowned at the browning pancakes in the pan. trying to focus on his brother’s voice and not let his son’s breakfast burn at the same time.

 _“_ Come on, man, what’s up?”

_“Just a bad night’s sleep. Crowley’s doing better, but I’ve got a bad feeling. I was hoping Cas could come take another look at him.”_

Dean grimaced, spooning silver dollar-sized pancakes onto a plate and setting them to one side to cool then topping off Simon’s milk with one hand.

“Yeah, I’ll get him up and then we’ll be right over. Tell Bobby to just...”

Static crackled in his ear and Dean blinked, his brow furrowing. “Sam? Sam!”

The phone crackled again and went dead. Dean looked down but the pan was gone, as were the pancakes, the growing mess, and Simon.

“Simon!”

The high chair itself was nowhere to be seen and Dean stormed into the hall, checking the nursery which wasn’t a nursery anymore. It was an office. Dean turned and ran for the bedroom.

“Cas, wake up! Simon’s...”

He skidded to a stop, narrowly avoiding running face-first into a young blonde with bright green eyes.

“Damn, Dad, who pissed in your cornflakes?”

“What?”

“Simon’s fine. He’s in the car, we’re going to school. Like we do every Tuesday. And Wednesday. Thursdays and Fridays too.”

Bright curls danced around her face, dark gold, and something about her burned familiar. Dean felt familiar warmth burn when she brushed his arm, her Grace reacting to his own.

“Dad, you sure you’re okay?”

The front door opened and a tall youth stepped in, the spitting image of a young Jimmy Novak. He made several gestures with his hands, and the blonde next to him responded with a quick flourish of her own.

“Simon,” Dean breathed and Simon beamed at him, waving what he could only assume was goodbye.

“Bye, Dad!” The girl leaned up to brush a kiss on his cheek then she was chasing Simon out the door. Dean stood on the porch and watched as they climbed into the Impala and drove away.

“It’s a wonderful future, isn’t it?”

Dean spun, spotting another blond just behind him, but this one held an ethereal power behind zim.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Try again.”

Dean felt his Grace burn in response to the approaching angel, and Dean suddenly just _knew_ who it was.

“Samael.” he growled. “You bitch.”

Samael smiled and brushed a hand over his cheek. Dean snarled, backing away.

“You tortured my brother and attacked my mate. What the hell are you doing here? Are you fucking suicidal?”

“Oh, Dean. You may have a bit of Grace burning in you, but you’re no match for me. I have all of Heaven behind my blade.”

“So what are you doing here?” Dean stepped forward, inches from Samael and not caring about the danger he was putting himself in. “And where’s Cas?”

“Castiel isn’t here,” Samael purred, sliding around him. “This future is the one where you agree to my terms.”

“Well, you can take your terms and shove’m up your ass.” Dean snapped. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“You should at least listen before you object, Dean.” Samael laughed. “You can give me Crowley and Castiel. In return, you can have a peaceful life with your children. Sam goes back to college, lives a happy life. I’ll even let you keep your broken archangel.”

“Kiss my ass.”

Samael shook zis head. “Dean, you’re going to lose him either way.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Castiel isn’t telling you everything he knows. The memories of his past weren’t all that he received when my angels broke his binding. He knows what’s going to happen, if he chooses to fight me, and he’s going to let it happen.”

“Look, birdbrain, I trust Cas a hell of a lot more than I trust you.” Dean laughed.

“Trust me in this,” Samael hissed, leaning close to him until mere inches separated their faces. “If you choose to fight me, I will burn the heart out of you. I will raze everything you love to the ground. You cannot win this.”

“Trust _me_ , you ignorant dick,” Dean pushed back, drawing himself up. “I beat Hell. I beat Purgatory. I’ve killed monsters and demons and angels. I am Dean Winchester. Don’t tell me what I can’t do!”

Samael stumbled back, glaring at him, but Dean didn’t back down. “Now you put me back where you found me, feathers, and get out of my house.”

_“Dean?”_

Dean blinked, Sam’s voice buzzing in his ear. The pancakes were sizzling merrily in the pan and Simon was looking up at him curiously.

“Call you back, Sam.”

Dean ended the call and flipped the pancakes, rubbing his forehead. He looked down at Simon, who tilted his head in perfect mirror of Castiel.

“Did that just happen?”

“Did what just happen?”

Castiel stumbled into the kitchen, running hand through his hair, looking pale.

“You okay?” Dean asked, concerned, and Castiel nodded, sinking into a chair.

“Stomach’s not agreeing with me this morning.”

“Another side effect of molting?”

“I would assume so.”

Dean glanced over his shoulder to see Castiel smiling at Simon. He reached out and caught wind of their conversation, a mix of color and song that somehow made sense to them both but meant nothing to him. He just shrugged and slid a couple pancakes onto plates for himself and Castiel and gathered a few eggs to scramble.

He felt the alarm spread through Castiel a second before the first explosion hit.

The window exploded in his face and time seemed to slow down. He felt Castiel’s Grace pulling him backwards, shielding Simon, felt the heat of the fire above them. Then he was turning, grabbing Simon out of his chair and by the time he spun around, Castiel was at his side, Simon caught between them as they used their bodies to shelter their son. Simon’s thoughts were a maelstrom of terror and confusion, but Castiel’s were clear as day.

_Angels!_

_Samael._ Dean responded quickly. _Bitch was here._

Castiel sent him a quick affirmation that he had received the information as he herded them both into the cellar just as another explosion ripped through the living room.

_“Take Simon to Bobby’s.”_

_“I’m not leaving you here, Cas.”_

_“I’m not going to run away like a fledgling and let them destroy our home.”_

_“It’s all just wood and bricks, Cas! We can rebuild it! I can’t rebuild you.”_

Castiel sent him a sad look before nodding and sliding an arm around his waist. Dean pinned his own Grace back to allow Castiel to fly them without its interference and then they were standing in Bobby’s living room, Sam jumping in surprise at their sudden appearance. Castiel pulled away and went to the porch, looking out over the trees and fields to where the glow of fire was just visible. He watched as three angels peeled off and left their home to burn.

By the time he turned away, Dean was there and Castiel fell against his chest, hiding against him. Castiel’s kiss was almost desperate as he found Dean’s lips, and Dean had a feeling that if Sam had not been two feet behind them with Simon in his arms, Castiel would’ve had him right there on the porch.

Then Castiel was pulling away and a stern calm settled over him like a shield. Dean hadn’t seen him look like this in nearly nine years. This was Castiel, the soldier.

“I need everyone in the library in five minutes.” Castiel ordered and Sam nodded. Castiel swept past them and Dean looked up to meet his brother’s confused look.

“Dean, what happened?”

“Angels,” He whispered, his hands shaking with rage. Silent tears ran down Simon’s face and Dean took his son from Sam, taking solace in the comfort he could offer. “Angels burned down our house because I wouldn’t give them Cas.”

He watched as shock turned to rage, crossing his brother’s face and nodding quickly.

“At least you got out okay.” Sam’s words sounded punched through gritted teeth.

“Yeah.” Dean said softly. “It’s all brick and mortar, right?”

“Right.”

Wrong. It was their peace of mind. Their salvation, their well-earned vacation, and Samael had just shattered it.

The Winchesters were on the warpath.

* * *

Castiel found Gabriel next to Crowley, straining his bound Grace to keep an eye on Crowley. The Nephilim’s dark red wings fluttered with his every breath, and Castiel could see how cracked and strained the half-angel’s Grace was just from trying to keep it all together. Still, his Grace was finally free and able to compensate for the demonic taint that had tormented his human half for so long.

Castiel touched a hand to Crowley’s forehead, healing the tears in his Grace. The fix wouldn’t last long, but it’d last long enough.

Gabriel lit up as Crowley’s eyes opened, shifting from Castiel to Gabriel and back again.

“Well, kitten,” He murmured weakly. “I didn’t expect to see you back so soon.”

“I need you downstairs.” Castiel explained, sliding an arm beneath him to help him sit up. Gabriel jumped around the bed to help Crowley stand, the two angels supporting him between them.

“Guess I don’t get much of a choice then,” Crowley laughed breathlessly, one hand tightening on Castiel’s shirt as his other arm coiled around his father’s waist.

“You always have a choice.” Castiel said softly. “You taught me that.”

Crowley chuckled lightly as Castiel helped him settle into a chair downstairs. “At least you learned something from our endeavors together.”

“Cas,” Gabriel whispered when Castiel stepped away from Crowley, Bobby taking his place at the fallen King’s side. He placed a hand on Castiel’s arm, his grip tight with worry. “Tell me he’s going to be okay.”

Castiel laid a hand over Gabriel’s, offering his brother a reassuring smile. “I have taken care of it, brother. Don’t worry.”

Gabriel chuckled, shaking his head. “Like that’s going to happen.”

Sam joined them from the kitchen, taking a beer from Dean, and Crowley smiled as Bobby handed him a glass of scotch.

“Aw, you remembered.” Crowley teased and Bobby rolled his eyes, accepting his beer from Dean.

“Alright, Cas,” Dean prompted, sitting on the couch next to Sam, the two of them taking up every inch of space between them. Sam was holding Simon against his chest, but as Dean sat down, Simon reached for his father and Dean set his beer on the nearby table to take him into his arms. Gabriel didn’t hesitate to take Simon’s vacated spot in Sam’s lap, and for once, Dean didn’t glare at him for it.

Castiel looked at Dean and Simon and for a second, his gaze softened, a flash of wistful longing and woe, and Dean looked up just as Castiel lowered his head. Dean frowned, reaching through the bond to Castiel’s side, but he was met with a cold emptiness.

“Cas?” he asked, this time concerned as Castiel had apparently cut him out.

_Castiel isn’t tell you everything he knows._

Castiel lifted his head, but he didn’t look to Dean. His arms were folded across his chest as he stood in front of them.

“You have all heard the truth about my past, and I can tell you that whether you believe in the prophecies of Enoch, it doesn’t matter. Samael has attacked my family three times now. Once was enough, and I should’ve acted sooner. Since the angels broke Michael’s binding on my Grace, my memories have returned. I know what we have to do to act against Samael, to right the Balance that Michael has upset. If you follow me, if you trust me, I can assure you there will be peace between Heaven and Hell.”

“Peace?” Dean scoffed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“It’s not that ludicrous, Dean.” Castiel said softly.

“He’s right,” Gabriel interjected before Dean could protest. “Back at the start of things, everything was balanced. Good and evil, Heaven and Hell...it was Michael’s plan that threw things off. If we can fix that, it’s a whole new world.”

“So how do you plan on doing that?” Dean huffed, Sam shooting him a glare for his tone.

Castiel’s resolution seemed to quiver under Dean’s gaze, but then he sighed softly.

“We’ll face that when the time comes. Right now, we need to take out Samael and her forces. Are you with me?”

“Bitch tried to tear my wings off,” Crowley said shortly. “I’ll follow you.”

Bobby simply nodded, as did Sam, and Gabriel gave Castiel a cheeky grin.

“I’ve been with you since the day you were born, Cassie. Be rather dumb of me to stop now.”

Still, he threaded his fingers with Sam’s and placed a small kiss to his mate’s forehead, Sam offering him a reassuring smile. Simon mewled and Dean shifted to bounce him lightly, kissing his temple, Simon’s dark hair tickling his nose. He looked up and found Castiel looked at him, then both of their gazes shifted to where Simon was gesturing for something to drink. Dean stood, shifting Simon to his hip.

“Let’s gank this bitch.”

Castiel nodded, breathing out what could’ve been a sigh of relief. He didn’t follow as Dean carried Simon to the kitchen.

“We need to know what Samael’s planning. Michael must be behind this, but we need to know how far Samael has advanced in his work.”

“Nicolai.” Crowley said shortly. “Nicolai was working with her. If nothing else, she’ll know how to get in contact with her.”

Castiel gave a short nod, straightening up from where he’d been leaning against the wall.

“Bobby, would you please gather what we need for a summoning? Gabriel, we’ll work in the cellar. Please make sure the wardings are flawless.”

“You got it, boss.” Gabriel quipped, jumping up from Sam’s lap as Bobby stood.

The elder hunter brushed a hand over Crowley’s shoulder as he passed, the former king’s gaze lingering on his back as he followed Gabriel down the stairs to the cellar. Sam followed them before veering off to step out onto the porch.

Crolwey snapped back to attention as Castiel knelt before him, drawing a careful hand along his healing wings, drawing a flinch from Crowley, the feathers shuddering away from his touch.

“I don’t feel like I’m getting any better,” Crowley whispered. “Everything hurts.”

“I know.” Castiel returned, just as quietly. “You will be all right, my friend.”

“For what it’s worth,” Crowley started again after a long silence between them, but Castiel raised a hand, ending his apology before it began.

“The past is past, Crowley. We cannot change it, but we can strive to make the future better. Now rest. We may need you before the day is out.”

Crowley let Castiel lay him back on the couch, chuckling when the angel spread a blanket out over him. “Right. Rest. Like that’s going to make anything better.”

Castiel just offered him a small smile, the barest upturn of his lips, before slipping into the kitchen behind Dean. Simon was laying against Dean’s chest, eyes half-closed as Dean hummed what Castiel recognized as a Zeppelin tune. Dean started with surprise when Castiel wrapped his arms around his waist from behind, pressing his face to the back of Dean’s shoulder.

“I know I’m asking so much of you right now...” Castiel started and Dean laughed, turning so he could wrap an arm around Castiel’s shoulders.

“You’re asking me to trust you. That’s not asking a lot.” Dean teased him with a kiss, and Castiel tried to follow him when he pulled away, his hands bunching in Dean’s shirt.

“Blind faith has never been one of your strong suits, my love.” Castiel whispered. “I fear it will be too much.”

“Hey,” Dean said softly, smiling when Simon placed a hand on Castiel’s cheek, Castiel turning his head to place a kiss in his son’s palm. “Trust _me._ I can handle it. Lead the way.”

Castiel stretched up to steal another kiss, lingering against Dean’s lips for a long moment, and when he pulled away, he let his hand drift down Dean’s chest. Simon hiccuped, and Castiel smiled sadly.

“Seems the morning’s excitement tired him out.”

“Yeah,” Dean nodded. “Should probably put him down for a nap if we’re going to be summoning a demon anyway.”

Castiel kissed Simon’s temple, closing his eyes briefly. “I love you both so much.”

“Cas?”

Sam called from the porch before Dean could answer, but he pulled Cas up for a quick kiss nonetheless. Castiel squeezed his hand when he pulled away, once again the soldier as he went to Sam’s call. Dean laughed to himself at the plaid pajama bottoms Castiel was wearing, under a well-worn Metallica tee. He himself was still in a grey t-shirt and black basketball shorts.

“Okay, Simon,” Dean smiled. “Daddy’s got to go summon a demon in his pajamas. Sound fun?”

* * *

Sam glanced back when Castiel stepped out onto the porch, shifting as he looked out over the trees to where he knew their house had been.

“How bad is it?”

“We can rebuild.” Castiel replied simply.

Sam sighed, curling his arms around himself. “I thought we were safe there, Cas, but this just...ugh.”

He turned, looking at Castiel sadly. “I dreamed about it again. Is that...is that really going to happen?”

Castiel seemed to shrink under his gaze, turning to look back at the house. “I’m afraid it will, Sam, but more, I’m afraid it won’t. I’m afraid the time’s going to come and I’m not going to step forward and accept it.”

Tears spilled from Castiel’s eyes and Sam stepped forward, wrapping him in a tight hug.

“There has to be another way. There always is, Cas, and we’ll find it.”

Castiel laughed weakly, his voice muffled in Sam’s chest.

“Yes, Sam, there are many other ways, other paths, and in each one, the world burns because I could not willingly give myself up.”

* * *

Simon had fallen asleep the moment Dean laid him down, though he’d tried to keep him up as long as possible so he’d sleep through the summoning. With him secure and safe in the panic room, Dean joined Bobby upstairs.

“Gabriel and Sam are about to make a run for some last minute supplies,” Bobby informed him when he came into the kitchen. Crowley was asleep in the living room once again, scarlet wings folded over him like he was trying to hide from prying eyes. Dean might’ve teased him for acting so much like a friggin’ bird if Crowley wasn’t so obviously in pain.

“Think this is going to work?” Dean asked quietly and Bobby scoffed wordlessly.

“I ain’t losing my family again, boy. Not again. Samael don’t bother me none, but what’s yanking her chain might. I don’t know nothing about her, but the way Cas talked has got me thinking we’re up against the big boys themselves again.”

“Michael and Lucifer?”

“Michael, in particular. Wouldn’t surprise me none if Michael took care of business down there in that cage and now he’s looking to finish off the last pieces in his way.”

“Gabriel,” Dean murmured. “And us...”

“Sure he’s got a bone to pick with us after we tossed him down there,” Bobby sighed. “Cas and Crowley high on his list too. The Seraph and the Last Nephilim...”

Dean ran a hand over his face, setting his jaw. “Look, we shoved that fucker back in once, and we’ll do it again if we have to. One step at a time.”

Bobby looked up at him and smiled, nodding once, and Dean turned to head back out of the kitchen. He stopped at the last moment and shot Bobby a teasing grin.

“So you and Crowley...who...”

“Finish that question, boy, and you’ll be picking rock salt out of your ass for months.”

Dean laughed, shaking his head. “Have you seen Cas?”

“Upstairs.”

Bobby listened to the sound of Dean jogging upstairs, seeking out his mate, and headed into the living room with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He tugged his chair over so he could sit next to Crowley. Crowley lifted a hand to his knee when he was close enough, running his thumb over the threadbare jeans Bobby wore.

“You know, I know this great tailor, and he happens to know your measurements by heart...”

Bobby smiled, laying his hand over Crowley’s. “Idjit.”

* * *

Dean called out for Castiel when he got upstairs, glancing around until he heard Castiel in the room where Crowley had been staying. He slipped up behind him, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s waist, and leaning over his shoulder to kiss his cheek. He pulled away, causing Castiel to scowl up at him.

“Gabriel and Sam should be back in a minute and-mff!”

Dean squeaked when Castiel caught double handfuls of his shirt, pulling him down for a desperate, hurried kiss. Dean felt Castiel’s need coiling against the bond, echoed in the way his teeth worried Dean’s bottom lip, and the way his arms were iron and steel around him, one pulling him flush against the angel’s chest, and the other gripping his hip as Castiel ground against him.

“Casss...” Dean hissed when Castiel relinquished the assault on his lips only to nudge his head back, latching onto his jaw and sucking a bruise there where anyone could see, trailing claiming bites down his throat that had Dean gripping Castiel’s immovable shoulders for support, his head reeling between pleasure and pain.

“Cas,” he tried again, hands gripping the back of Castiel’s shirt in protest of his words. “I d-don’t think this is the time.”

Castiel pulled away and the look in his eyes sent a rabid thrill through Dean, burning away his protests and leaving only a heated trail to his core for Castiel to follow.

“I told you to trust me.”

Dean growled and brought his hands up to tangle in Castiel’s long hair, jerking his head back as he attacked his mouth. He only pulled away to allow Castiel to pull his shirt off over his head, feeling it brush his foot as it dropped to the floor. Castiel’s shirt was just as quickly disposed of and Dean turned him, pushing him back against the dresser. He drew in a sharp breath at the feel of Castiel’s nails dragging down his back, but any further sound was drowned in Castiel’s lips.

How could he have denied himself this for so long? So many wasted years, and so much longer for Castiel. The thin cotton of Castiel’s pajama pants and the loose neoprene of his shorts did nothing to hide their erections, only aiding in the slide of their fevered grinding. Castiel was a furnace pressed against him, Grace glowing hotly beneath his skin, and Dean felt his own Grace drinking it up, pressing back and offering itself for the taking.

“Dean,” Castiel was gasping. “I need...”

“What?” Dean asked hurriedly and groaned when Castiel fell out of rhythm, breaking the so-needed friction to turn and face the dresser, placing one hand against the wall as he reached for the elastic band of his pants.

Dean nodded quickly, aiding Castiel in pushing his pajama pants down around his hips, fingers deftly finding his already slicked hole.

“Don’t...” Castiel whined as he pressed a finger inside his tight heat to stretch him. “I’m good, just need you.”

Dean didn’t ask, merely pushed his own shorts down just enough to free his cock. He expected some sign of pain from Castiel when he pushed inside, but Castiel just gave a soft, low groan and pushed his hips back, forcing Dean to abandon his short, slow thrusts to seat himself in one long push. Sweat beaded on Castiel’s forehead as Dean leaned forward, pressing his chest to Castiel’s back and threading his fingers with Castiel’s free hand.

“More, Dean,” Castiel whimpered, tugging on his Grace. “More.”

Dean nodded, pushing forward with his borrowed Grace and he had to bite down hard on Castiel’s shoulder to keep himself from coming when his Grace slipped effortlessly inside Castiel’s. He had no doubts anymore that he and Castiel had been made for each other. There was no one who could do this for him, no one who’d loved him so easily, so freely.

“I love you,” Dean whispered, because somehow he knew Castiel needed to hear it.

He didn’t say a word when Castiel began to cry, silent tears dripping from clenched eyes to the stained wood of the dresser.

* * *

When he and Gabriel had first started dating, Sam would be startled by a quick trip to the bathroom or to grab a pop from the machine outside their motel room turning into a waltz down the Champs Elysee or, on one occasion, suddenly finding himself on Mars. Gabriel had taken it upon himself, after hearing about Sam’s promiscuous and experimental days in college, to outdo any partner Sam had ever had.

Even Sam had to admit, mind-blowing sex whilst knowing the only thing keeping you alive was the same being that was currently doing the mind-blowing, and being able to open his eyes and see the Earth a blue sliver light-years away, to feel Mars’ red clay between his fingers and on his knees, it was pretty amazing.

So Sam hadn’t said a word when their quick trip to a local herbalist to restock Bobby’s supply of white sage and mandrake root had taken an abrupt turn that ended with him on his back on silk sheets in what he believed was a Parisian hotel with a stunning view of the Louvre. He’d only gotten a cursory glance, though, before Gabriel was pushing him back on the bed.

Once upon a time, Sam might’ve been entranced by the way Gabriel was riding him, and would’ve been unable to look away from where he could watch his cock disappear inside Gabriel’s body.

Once upon a time, Sam hadn’t dreamed he might date someone with wings.

Gabriel’s wings stretched out and filled the room, the lower pair moving in rhythm with the archangel’s movements, offering him both balance and leverage. Sam alternated between digging his hands into Gabriel’s hips and sliding his hands up his sides to pull and tease at the downy axillary feathers covering Gabriel’s back. The long mahogany primaries covered Sam’s lean body from shoulder to calf, always moving, fluttering over his skin, glistening with iridescent gold.

“Love you, Sammy,” Gabriel murmured, leaning to rest his forehead against Sam’s, and Sam curled his arms around Gabriel’s back to grip the base of his wings.

“Mine,” He declared and Gabriel gave a low moan, a shudder rippling through him.

Sam closed his eyes against the sudden ripple of carefully suppressed pain on Gabriel’s face. Once he’d pressed to know Gabriel’s secrets, now he didn’t want to know. One thing he had to hand to Dean though.

If this was ‘last night on Earth’ sex, it wasn’t half bad.

* * *

No one fussed when Sam and Gabriel got back three hours after they’d left, and Dean had to begin coaxing Simon down for another nap. Crowley, who was feeling better after sleeping most of the day, agreed to watch the toddler, only hissing a little when he crossed into the panic room. Gabriel beamed at this, taking it as a sign that his son’s Grace was beating out the demonic taint.

Castiel nodded approvingly at the extra warding Gabriel had placed on the cellar, even laughing when Gabriel thrust out his chest proudly. Gabriel cuffed Castiel over the head with one wing, his gaze warm and fond as he took his place around the devil’s trap.

The sigils on the floor were specially designed to summon Nicolai to the direct center where half a dozen holding seals were there. Dean’s jaw was set firmly, his eyes cold as he thought of what they might need to do to find out whatever Nicolai had to offer on Samael and her master plan. Crowley had expressed it might not be much, Nicolai wasn’t good for much use beyond a simple pawn, but it was all they had to go on at the moment. Scrying a location off someone as powerful as Samael wouldn’t be easy for an angel at full-power, let alone two at half-mast.

Castiel shook out his wings, offering a soft ‘thank you’ to Bobby when he was handed the brass bowl full of herbs and the other ingredients necessary.

“Is everyone ready?” He asked, looking around.

Bobby nodded and Gabriel and Sam both gave him a thumbs-up from across the circle. Dean gave him a wink, a smirk twisting his lips as warmth flooded his gaze briefly.

“Let’s do this.”

In the brief silence that followed, they could all hear Simon, his bright peals of laughter overshadowing whatever Crowley was saying to him.

Then Castiel nodded, almost to himself and lifted his hand over the bowl and began to chant. Dean felt the Latin incantation evoke magic that made his Grace tremble in recognition and coil tensely, instinctively preparing for what was to come.

He flinched when the mixture in the bowl burst into flames at Castiel’s command. Seconds later, a strange female demon was standing in the center of their traps, looking around in confusion.

Three of the seals snapped almost immediately and Castiel and Gabriel both surged forward, catching Nicolai by either arm and slamming her to the ground. She gave a wordless howl of protest, quickly quieted when Gabriel drew his silver blade and placed it to her throat. Dean shifted the demon-killing knife in his grip, watching the two angels.

“You must be Nicolai,” Gabriel laughed. “I’ll get straight to the point. You’re working for someone...”

Gabriel was cut short by Castiel shoving him backwards with both hands, and Dean saw Castiel’s shorn wings stretch out.

“Get back!” Castiel shouted as blood bubbled from Nicolai’s lips.

Gabriel scrambled backwards, his wings flaring to cover Bobby and Sam, and Dean’s instinct immediately went to Simon and Crowley as Castiel threw himself over Nicolai’s body, spreading his wings to cover her. Dean skidded to a stop, caught between his mate and his son, and he didn’t have a second to choose before light exploded from Nicolai’s body, piercing and his Grace screamed in protest as it passed through him.

Spots danced before his eyes as he struggled to reorient, his ears ringing painfully. Dean had been knocked back several feet into the door of the panic room, his back aching from the hit. He felt hands beneath his shoulders, helping him to stand.

“What happened?” Crowley shouted, but it was as if he were miles away, his voice barely audible as Dean shook his head, reaching out to grip the frame of the door for support.

“Simon?” he croaked and Crowley tipped his head back.

“We were protected, what happened?”

This time Dean’s hearing had returned to normal by the time Crowley finished his question and he pushed forward, back over to where the devil’s trap was nothing but charred broken lines. Gabriel was picking himself up from across the room, leaning heavily on Sam who was supporting both him and Bobby. Bobby was leaning over, hands on his knees and eyes tightly shut as he dealt with the same disorientation Dean was just now overcoming.

Cas was on his hands and knees, struggling to stand, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. His vessel was still in one piece, but Dean could feel Castiel’s Grace thrashing inside him. He ran to Castiel’s side, hooking an arm under his shoulders and pulling him to his feet.

“It was a trap.” Castiel murmured, his head lolling onto Dean’s shoulder, and Dean glanced down at what remained of Nicolai’s body.

“Suicide bomber,” Bobby said gruffly and Dean looked from him to where Sam was struggling to support Gabriel. “They took out the angels.”

“The wards...” Gabriel gasped. “The wards are gone.”

“Shit.” Dean snapped.

The sound of glass breaking from upstairs came as clear as a bell and Castiel shoved away from Dean, holding himself upright through sheer willpower, blood having drenched the white button-up he’d donned, painting his chin and throat red.

“Take positions, they’ll bottleneck on the stairs.” he ordered.

Dean lunged to snatch the knife from the floor where he’d dropped it and Sam grabbed the Colt, Gabriel coming to stand next to Castiel. He wasn’t as bad as Castiel, the latter having taken the brunt of the hit. He laid a hand on Castiel’s chest, pushing him back and stepping in front of him. His wings were shaking, but Castiel looked ready to fall back over.

Bobby steadied Castiel with a hand on his back as he took up a place, a rifle in his arms.

“What are you going to do with a rifle?” Dean scoffed and Bobby smirked.

“Benefits of having angels around. Got special bullets. Enochian exorcism inscribed on each one.”

“Bobby,” Dean laughed. “You’re awesome.”

“Was your boyfriend’s idea.” Bobby said shortly, raising the rifle to his shoulder, standing strongly even as Castiel laid a hand on his shoulder for support. “There’s another rifle behind you, Sam, when you run out of bullets.”

Sam nodded quickly, glancing back to note the rifle behind him before looking back up to eye the top of the stairs.

“Crowley, take Simon and get out of here!” Dean shouted over the sound of splintering wood and Crowley hesitated, looking to Bobby and then back to Dean, opening his mouth to protest but Dean cut him off.

“GO!”

Crowley nodded quickly, crossing back into the panic room and picking Simon up. He stretched his still healing wings and was gone the next second. Dean and Castiel let out matching sighs of relief and then the sound of the Colt rang out, followed by a screech from above. Dean took the stairs two at a time to shove the knife up into the throat of the first demon, twisting to one side so the demons behind it fell forward into the range of the Colt and Bobby’s rifle.

Gunshots rang out and Dean shoved himself forward, feeling demonic energy trying to shove him back, throw him against a wall, and he was grateful for all the time Castiel had him training against demons. He pulled at his Grace and it shoved the energy away. The knife flashed, blood-stained, in his hand, and then he was through the first wave, staring down a dozen more demons in Bobby’s center room.

Castiel and Gabriel flashed past him, moving in perfect unison, angel blades flashing, and Dean took a moment to steady himself, adrenaline making his hands shake and the proximity of the demons making his Grace burn, eager to smite and burn them all back to Hell. One made it past the avenging angels and Dean buried the knife in its chest, but another one came up too fast for him to wrench the knife out.

“Dean!” He heard Sam call as he was tackled, the wooden planks of Bobby’s floor groaning with the impact. Dean snarled in the face of his attacker, hitting him hard across the jaw and then fitting his hand around their throat. He shoved himself up and pinned them to the floor, pressing his hand to their forehead and then he _pushed._

The demon beneath him screamed as holy light spilled from its eyes and Dean found himself grinning proudly. _Just like in training._

He looked up, hoping that Castiel might’ve caught sight of his victory, but instead he found Sam’s incredulous gaze.

“Did you just _smite_ a demon _?_ ” Sam gasped and Dean grinned, wriggling his fingers at Sam as he got to his feet.

“All new and improved here, Sammy.”

His smile didn’t last long, and he moved forward to smite the demon behind Sam just as his brother raised the rifle to his shoulder to take out another just behind him. The demon shot with Bobby’s new ‘exorcism’ bullets screamed and flailed as he went down, digging at the bullet before smoking out.

Dean was just starting to think they might survive this attack when his Grace twinged, alerting him to a new and, unfortunately, familiar presence.

“Cas!” he shouted. “It’s Samael!”

Castiel spun, wrenching his blade from a demon’s skull as holy light filled the house. Gabriel was shouting, but the demons didn’t even slow down as four angels appeared among them. Three headed for Gabriel, but Samael was fixated on Castiel. Dean felt bile burn at the back of his throat as he lunged forward to join his mate only to be forced back by the fresh wave of soulsuckers.

Heaven and Hell united against them. How in the world were they going to survive this one?

It felt like hours, the seconds that passed with Dean trying to fight his way to Castiel’s side. All he could see was the flash of his mate’s silver blade, sparks flying when it struck against Samael’s. His arm ached and his Grace was dwindling. He’d never had to fight so many demons at once, and his vision was beginning to blur from the strain.

“Cas!” he shouted again.

Something exploded behind him, some spell Bobby had pulled from his arsenal, and Dean saw an opening break through the crowd to Castiel and he lunged forward. He was nearly to Castiel’s side when a piercing, angelic scream sent him to his knees, clutching at his head. Blood dripped from his ears as he turned to see where two angels had driven matching blades through Gabriel’s wings. The bound archangel was writhing in agony, still trying to fight the three that now held him captured.

Sam lay unconscious nearby, Bobby standing protectively over his body with another one of his ‘bombs’ ready to throw.

Castiel shoved Samael away, lunging over to stab the nearest angel holding Gabriel down, wrenching the blade from his wing and twirling it in his hand. Gabriel lunged up, sending the angel on his chest skidding back as Castiel freed his other wing.

The wings of the two fallen angels were etched into the walls, and Gabriel and Castiel stood side by side against the remaining two. Dean got to his feet, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Castiel held an angel blade in each hand, but both he and Gabriel were trembling on their feet. Dean’s vision wavered in and out, and he stood unarmed against the demons that had, for some reason stopped attacking.

Samael walked through them with zis arm raised, smirking as ze came to stand before Castiel.

“Where’s Crowley? I know you have him here, somewhere.”

Castiel smiled, blood staining his teeth. “Bite me.”

Samael stepped forward, and for a second, Dean lost sight of the fight, but when his vision cleared, the last remaining angel had Gabriel pinned with a blade to his throat and Samael’s hand was wrapped around Castiel’s throat. Castiel’s eyes were barely open, his hands scrambling for purchase against Samael’s grip.

“One prize is enough for today.” Samael was saying, but zis voice seemed to come from so very far away.

Dean realized he was on his knees, and some of the blood matting his shirt to his chest was his own.

“Release him, Jehuviel,”

The angel released Gabriel, but Gabriel thudded weakly to the floor, unable to even hold his head up. Samael looked from Dean to Bobby and then to Sam’s unconscious body.

“You can have the rest,” Ze said to the demons as ze and the angel took flight, taking Castiel with them.

“No!” Dean shouted, shoving himself up. “Cas!”

The demons turned, at least a dozen eyeing both him and Bobby, and Dean swallowed hard. His gaze flicked to the knife, forgotten on the floor, and Sam’s rifle, across the room.

“Hello boys,”

Crowley’s voice was clear, and the demons spun to where he stood in the middle of the room, scarlet wings outstretched. He turned, smirking, to Bobby.

“And for my next trick...”

He twisted, raising both hands.

“GET DOWN!”

Dean dropped automatically, shielding his face with his arms even as he heard Bobby’s angry protest and Gabriel’s anguished cry. Holy light burned against his eyelids and against his tired Grace, the screams of the demons filling his ears for what felt like hours, and then all was silent.

So very silent.

Bobby was staring in shock, but Gabriel was screaming with denial and protest, scrambling to catch Crowley’s body before it hit the ground.

Stretching from the mantle to crystallize on the window, a new set of wings was burned into the floor, and a single scarlet feather turned to ash at Dean’s fingertips.

Ash drifted in the air around them, and Dean’s ears were ringing, oh, how the bells were ringing.

_Ashes_

_Ashes_

_We all_

_Fall_

_Down_

 


	8. Lead Me Beside Still Waters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd, so forgive any errors. <3

 

Her name was Lily Ayers.

She was unremarkable, except to the thirteen five-year olds in her kindergarten class. She had three sons, two of which were grown and had moved out and on with their lives. The youngest was only fifteen, and more than anything, she dreaded the day that he too would find his own path and she would be alone in the great house that had been in her family for so many generations.

It had been fifteen years since her husband had mysteriously disappeared without a word. Everyone in the small New York town had their theories as to why he’d gone, but Lily still had faith. It hung heavy on her, a silver cross burned into the valley between her breasts, stark and clear against the flower print of her dress. He would come home. She had no doubt of it.

She was standing on the back porch of the old country home, fifteen years to the day since he’d gone, when the ground began to rumble beneath her feet. Gasping, she fell back against the stair railing, white paint crackling off beneath her hands. She could hear the horses whinnying in alarm as a ringing filled the air, like the fireman’s whistle, only so much louder.

Lightning flashed, blinding her and she fell to the ground, covering her head and curling in on herself. Over and over, it struck the ground. Seven times, she counted, seven flashes.

Later they would try to convince her she must’ve been mistaken, but she would swear the lightning had not come from the clear blue sky above, but from the now gaping hole in her backyard.

* * *

 

Seconds.

Seconds.

He had but seconds.

They ticked away in his mind, a stopwatch flashing behind his eyelids with every step. Alarms echoed around his head, telling him things he already knew, but things that he couldn’t forget, not for anyone. Not for anything.

_Cas is gone. You lost him, and you have but seconds left._

He could see the agony on Bobby’s face, ash still falling through the air, saw Gabriel’s eyes wide with disbelief and fear, and saw Sam look first to his mate as he struggled to regain consciousness, then to his surrogate father, and lastly up to meet his own. The latter lasted less than a second as he looked to his purpose, the action which forced energy into tired limbs, forced him the few feet to where Gabriel was cradling Crowley so tightly..

_Cas. Cas is gone. I lost him. I let him go._

“Crowley!”

A voice in the silence.

“Crowley! You stay with me, you son of a bitch!”

Ashen wings burned into the wood and brick alike, the remnants of the Nephilim who called himself Crowley. The scarlet feathers he’d so painstakingly stitched were gone, and Crowley’s eyes were closed. Empty.

Seconds.

He had seconds.

_I lost Cas for you, you son of a bitch. Don’t you give up on me._

“What are you doing?”

Bobby. No time to explain. Only have seconds.

Dean knelt over Crowley’s body, the vast chaos around him a distant memory as he ripped the remnants of his shirtsleeve off. Blood ran from the shallow cuts on his forearm, and all he thought of was how it might help create a bond between them.

_This has to work_

Just seconds. Seconds to act, seconds to choose, seconds to make this work.

Dean laid his hand on Crowley’s chest, feeling the emptiness inside him and reaching even deeper, reaching past the darkness to where the dimmest glow of Grace still burned, seconds away from extinguishing forever. He curled his hand around it, protecting it, and reaching back into his own chest where his tattered Grace recoiled from his touch, so very tired and worn. He summoned it determinedly, coaxing it down his arm and into Crowley’s body.

_Cas said I can do this, and I believe in him. If I believe in nothing else, I believe in him!_

It hurt, pain he hadn’t felt in years, and it was agony as he wrenched off shredded pieces of his Grace and offering them to Crowley’s, begging them to take the energy he was offering, the life.

He felt hands on his shoulders, warmth trickling down his chin, and his vision blurred and swam.

“Let him go, Dean,”

_No_

Dean felt the last of his Grace drain away and it all went dark.

* * *

 

Jody Mills hummed to herself as she picked up in the living room. She’d hidden the numerous sigils that only the world’s two most protective parents would place on their walls behind cheap paintings and decorations. Such was the price one had to pay when one was the babysitter of choice for the Winchesters.

On the floor, Simon laughed, manipulating the iPad as easily as anyone three or four times his age. There were several educational apps that she’d invested in, and even a couple for deaf children.

It had only been a couple hours before a strange man had appeared in her living room with Simon, telling her that it was an emergency and he needed her to look after the child. It wasn’t the first time she’d babysat the youngest Winchester, but the fear in the man’s eyes had caused her to line the doors, windows, and the perimeter of the living room and kitchen with salt. She set a shotgun by each entryway, and flicked the news on.

Bad news was typical of this day and age, but today it seemed even worse. A tsunami had hit Mumbai, an ancient Italian volcano was suddenly active again, erupting to kill thousands, and earthquakes were being reported all along the Pacific Rim. It was like the Earth was trying to shake itself to death.

Or something was trying to crawl out of it.

“Don’t worry,” Jody offered Simon a smile, sitting down on the floor next to him and petting his hair. “Nobody’s going to harm you. Not with me and your dads around. You’re the safest person in the whole world.”

Simon smiled up at her and lifted the iPad to show his carefully scrawled rendition of her name.

* * *

 

Sam hadn’t seen the blow coming, the demon wielding a broken piece of wood, and he felt the splinters in his cheeks even as he shoved himself up. Black spots danced in his vision as he saw Gabriel cradling Crowley’s still body. He looked up at Bobby, then to Dean as his brother got to his feet, crossing the space to Gabriel’s side.

There were ashes everywhere, and two unfamiliar sets of wings burned into the floor, and a third, smaller set stretching out from where Gabriel and Crowley lay.

“No,” he whispered, struggling to his knees and crawling towards his brother and mate. “NO!”

Dean was shouting, the words getting jumbled in his head. Sam laid a hand on Gabriel’s shoulders as Dean pressed his hand to Crowley’s chest. Light glowed from beneath his palm and Sam sucked in a breath as Dean’s hand actually passed through Crowley’s chest, reaching inside him. Grace, it had to be _Grace_ , was flooding from behind his brother’s closed eyes, but at the same time, blood began to trickle from his nose, and then flow, dripping down his chin.

Gabriel drew a shaky breath next to him, and laid a hand over Dean’s, drawing his hand away.

“Let him go, Dean,” Gabriel murmured, and Sam reached out as Dean slumped to one side, his mouth and chin covered in blood.

“Give him to me,” Bobby’s voice was gruff in his ear, his face empty as he wrapped both arms around Dean’s chest and hauled him up, half-carrying/half-dragging him to the bathroom.

The house was a disaster, broken glass and wood in pieces around the room, furniture torn to shreds, but Sam couldn’t look at that now. He shifted around to face Gabriel, Crowley’s body stretched out between them.

“Is he...”

“I lost him again.” Gabriel choked out, smoothing Crowley’s hair back. He laid his head against Crowley’s, the fallen King’s skin already going pale. Sam reached out to brush Gabriel’s cheek and Gabriel trembled slightly.

“Cas is gone. Samael took him.”

Sam flinched, but still moved closer to his mate.

“Cas...I was supposed to protect him,” Gabriel said softly. “I failed him before...with Michael...I failed him now. Cas...Ariel...Malachi...I can’t even keep my own children alive.”

“Hush,” Sam said softly. “Cas is still alive, and we’re going to get him back. If I know Crowley, then I’m willing to bet he’s still got something up his sleeve.”

Gabriel looked up at him, his gaze turning fond once more. “You are always so full of hope.”

Sam just shrugged. “Comes with having faith in the ones I love.”

Gabriel looked down at the body in his arms, and sighed weakly. “I don’t even know who this man is. My son is gone, and this poor man is dead, and I have no idea who he is. I don’t know if he had a family, or friends, and if Malachi was acting as a demon when he took him, I can only imagine how he must have suffered.”

Sam followed his gaze, looking for the first time at Crowley’s vessel without seeing Crowley. “Well, why don’t we give him to Jody? Let the police handle the hard work for once. They can find his family and get him home.”

Gabriel shook his head. “No, we can’t leave the body alone. Empty vessel and all that. Once an angel has been inside it’s vessel, a number of things get turned on. There’s power resources in the soul that a vesseled angel can tap into to maintain the vessel’s stability, and once the angel is gone, they get left on. Demons would die for access to that power.”

“Then it’s a hunter’s funeral.” Bobby announced as he rejoined them, kneeling onto the floor by them with a bowl in his hands. Crowley’s last push of Grace had cleared the bodies from the room and burned away all trace of the other angels, so the only ash on the floor was from his burned out wings which Bobby began sweeping up, placing them gingerly in the bowl.

Gabriel followed his actions with tear-red eyes, his brow furrowed with confusion and Bobby shrugged. “We’ll find a proper urn later.”

They both then nodded in understanding and Gabriel let Sam lift Crowley’s body and carry it to the spare room so he could help Bobby in gathering the ash from Crowley’s wings. He did far less than Bobby, the elder hunter’s hands sweeping quickly and effectively. Gabriel looked up, seeing Bobby’s face set in a grim line as he worked.

“Are you even upset?” Gabriel whispered and Bobby stopped, just like that.

Bobby lifted his head, regarding the archangel incredulously. “Upset? Of course I’m upset, you moron! Just because I’m not blubbering like a fool doesn’t mean I’m not pissed Crowley nuked himself! Now I’ve been on the rough end of a half-dozen foolhardy revenge schemes, especially with Sam and Dean, and it is one messy business that ain’t going to get solved by me sitting on my ass whining about my feelings.”

“So...” Gabriel murmured. “...you’re not going to avenge my son?”

Bobby scoffed once more. “I’m going to find Samael and have her wings with a side of hot sauce if that’s all right with you, daddy.”

Gabriel found himself smiling in spite of everything. “I see why he liked you.”

Bobby snorted, picking up the bowl of ashes and setting it on his desk. “Look, you’re at half-mast. Dean’s out cold, so can you keep an eye on him while Sam and I see if we can get a bead on Cas?”

Gabriel nodded as he stood, wrapping his arms around himself. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Bobby reached out to grip Gabriel's shoulder, squeezing hard, and Gabriel looked up in surprise.

"This isn't over." The elder hunter said firmly. "He pulled me out of Purgatory. Maybe it's time I returned the favor."

"Nephilim don't go to Purgatory when they die." Gabriel replied quietly and Bobby shrugged.

"Never stopped us before. Death's our bitch, remember?"

Gabriel grinned. "Don't let him hear you say that."

Bobby scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Just keep an eye on Dean 'til you get amped back up. I've got to figure out a way to get in Heaven short of dying."

Gabriel laughed, shaking his head as he headed to the spare room where Dean lay. "Good luck with that. Heaven's locked up tighter than Michael's ass."

“Hmph,” Bobby said simply as Sam came back out, looking at the two of them before heading for the back door. Gabriel didn’t move until it slammed shut, and then he seemed to fold in on himself, walking past Bobby and into the room where Dean was resting.

Bobby sighed, running a hand over his face, and his gaze fell on the bowl now holding Crowley’s ashes. He shook his head, blinking back tears, and huffed. He reached into the liquor cabinet, and pulled out a bottle of Craig, pouring himself a glass.

“Time to track an angel.”

* * *

 

An angelic scream ripped across the space, and while it did not hold the same ear-shattering power it did on Earth, those within hearing distance flinched and ducked their heads, eager to be on their way.

The cold iron of the rack had long since ceased to be so, turning hot with the burn of his grace and the slick of his blood. Chains around his wrists held him upright, as well as the bands around his bare chest and waist, his arms outstretched to either side. His feet were bound to the floor, though he could barely stand on the balls of his feet.

His head was held tight to the rack by a metal contraption, and every scrap of metal was engraved with Enochian to bind his Grace. Several thick needles protruded from his forehead and the top of his head, and Castiel shuddered once as another angel retracted his hand from the needle in the center of his forehead.

“You haven’t made any progress.”

The angel sighed, glancing back at Samael, and returning his gaze to Castiel who looked up at him wearily.

“I should be wired into his core memories, but his Grace is so unstable from moulting that I’m unable to get a good read on him. There is also another anomaly that I can’t explain...”

Samael glared at the angel and grabbed him by the shoulder, shoving him out of the way.

“Get out.”

The angel disappeared and Samael leaned down, Castiel lifting his eyes to meet Samael’s cold gaze.

“Tell me where Crowley is.”

Castiel took a shuddering breath, lowering his gaze once more.

“I would...I wuould tell you...if I knew...” Castiel breathed. “Please...”

Samael laid zis hand on the needle in the center of Castiel’s forehead, causing the trembling angel on the rack to tense.

“You know, and you’re going to tell me.”

Ze pressed in on the needle and Castiel shrieked, his hands clenching and straining against his bindings until Samael drew zis hand away.

“Tell me.”

“Please...” Castiel was begging. “I-I don’t know. What could you possibly need him for? He’s nothing more than a shattered Nephilim, his Grace too corrupted to be of any use to you...”

Samael regarded him silently, then slowly began drawing each needle out. Castiel whined, body straining as the pain finally lessened and his Grace went to work healing the damage. Samael carried the bloody needles away, pausing at a nearby table.

“I would prefer this if it were fresh,” Zis fingers caressed a brass bowl. “But unfortunately, I’ve misplaced all my little underlings. Demons are so quick to run when their master falls.”

Castiel drew in a sharp breath, his eyes widening in fear, as Samael filled a syringe from the bowl of blood.

"I've heard of the damage that demon blood can do to an angel, but I've never gotten to see it for myself."

"No!" Castiel shouted. "Please! I'll give you anything...please!"

Samael smiled. "I'm quite bored of your pleas."

It was with a delicate hand that ze slid the needle into the vein of Castiel's arm, and Castiel thrashed against the rack, the iron cracking with the force of his voice.

The demon blood spread through his Grace like acid, and the plunger on the syringe was not even fully depressed yet. He thrashed desperately, trying to pull his arm away from the needle. When he couldn't escape physically, he pulled away from the moment, disappearing deep into his own mind, following the bond until he reached his mate.

Dean was standing on the shore of the lake, watching Simon and a young blond girl play in the shallows. He didn't start when he felt arms slip around his shoulders, just turned and caught Castiel's lips in a kiss.

"Well, if you're in my dream, you must be okay."

Castiel smiled. "I am now."

Children's laughter reached them and Castiel's smile grew. "I still like your dreams."

Dean laughed, eyes crinkling as he leaned back against Castiel's chest. "I like the ones with you in them."

"How is Crowley?"

Dean shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know. I passed out."

Castiel nodded. "I expected as much. Your Grace is still very immature."

"Where's this going to end, Cas? Am I gonna become a full-fledged angel or something?"

Castiel shook his head. "I strongly doubt it. You are still more human than angel. I don't think you'll develop any more angelic attributes."

"Damn," Dean laughed. "I was hoping for a pair of wings to match yours."

"Mmmm," Castiel hummed against the hollow of his throat. "The thought of you with wings...it's horribly tempting, but wings are a heavy responsibility."

"Whatever you say, babe." Dean laughed, reaching up to curl a hand in Castiel's dark hair and pull him down for a kiss.

* * *

 

The flames were high against the night sky, and the smell of smoke was thick in the air. It wasn’t the first time he’d burned a body, but Sam wasn’t expecting this one to hurt so much. His arms were wrapped around Gabriel, the archangel taking refuge in the bulk of his body. Gabriel’s face was stoic, and for all appearances, he was relaxed, but Sam could feel the terrible trembling of his wings.

Bobby was close by, leaning against the car on whose hood Sam and Gabriel were seated. He was quiet, they all were, the only sound the crickets in the grass and the crackle of flame on wood.

It was dawn before the flames began to die, and only then did any of them move to go inside. Gabriel quietly asked for some time alone, and after pressing a quick kiss to his mate’s forehead, Sam sought his own solitude in the room where Dean lay unconscious. Sam leaned over, laying a hand on Dean’s forehead. He had a bit of a fever, but his breathing was steady and his heartbeat strong, so Sam pulled a chair over and sat next to the bed.

He closed his eyes and saw Dean lifting a hand to a demon’s head, holy light filling the air and the demon dying beneath his touch.

Sam felt the burning pressure of another headache coming, and he sighed, rubbing his temples. He was amazed he hadn’t felt it before, having gotten used to sensing Castiel and Gabriel’s Grace. Dean’s Grace was lighter, softer, but still there. Now it was weak, burning like a haze of heat over his body, but in those moments of battle, it had burned just as bright as the other angels.

Sam closed his eyes and let the psychic vision take hold, the pain numbing as the images flashed before him. It was the same as the previous visions had been, but each time it became clearer, pale blurs becoming faces, names, stammered shouts becoming words, blinding light becoming wings.

_His Will be done._

Sam groaned weakly, pressing a hand to his forehead. He looked over at Dean, still resting.

“Sam.”

Bobby stood in the doorway, still in the same clothes he’d been wearing the night before.

“Yeah, Bobby?” Sam murmured, wishing he could just rest, but knowing he couldn’t, not yet.

“We may have a problem.”

Sam pushed himself to his feet, nodding. “What is it?”

Bobby pulled a cell phone from his pocket and offered it to Sam, who ran a hand over his face before taking it. It looked similar to an iPhone, but was larger and slimmer. It was already unlocked, and at the top bar, three red warning lights were flashing. When he touched one, a box filled the screen with text, a rare form of Enochian that Sam had gotten all too familiar with during his time in the Cage.

“Hellspeak. Crowley runs Hell from a cell phone?” Sam said, incredulous, and Bobby just shrugged.

“Not the strangest thing I’ve seen him do. You can read it?”

Sam nodded. “Heard it shouted around me for centuries, it was scratched into the walls of the Cage. It was all I could do sometimes.”

Bobby nodded shortly, letting Sam drop the subject. Sam hadn’t realized how difficult it was to read Hellspeak when he was lying in the Cage, trying to avoid being seen, and it was the only thing available. Still, he managed through sheer force of will.

“Hellmouths...I think this is subordina...no, it’s ‘peasants.’ He calls his subordinates ‘peasants.’ Um...” Sam sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Yeah, we have a problem. We have a big problem.”

“Well, lay it on me.” Bobby prompted and Sam looked up at him wearily.

“Hell is revolting.”

* * *

 

Under the strict direction of Crowley, it had been many years since Hell had been overcome by screams and chaos. It's instruments of torment had drifted from the physical to the psychological, and those who would make strong demons easily sifted from the minds of the endlessly waiting sheep.

It had taken less than twelve hours for it all to fall apart.

At first it had been slow, the inevitable rumors flying in the wake of Crowley's disappearance. Ever dutiful, Crowley prepared for a few days of absence, and orders flowed down from above as always.

It was about three days after Crowley's last physical appearance in his domain that the rumors found root among the Knights of Hell, and less than an hour after Nicolai declared herself queen, with the backing of her following and the magic Samael had supplied her with, the other Knights stepped forward to refute her claim.

After her very public and very brutal death, each Knight declared his or her self the new ruler, and the lesser demons flocked to place their lives and loyalty behind one flag or another.

He’d been waiting for this for a long time, the burn of jealousy and it’s strange bedfellow, pride, coiling in his chest.

Amidst the chaos, he gathered a few followers of his own and began sneaking out the back door.

* * *

 

No one had bothered to start any repairs on the house, spent shells scattered across the library floor, littered among shards of broken glass and wood. There were a few splatters of blood near where Dean had tried so hard to save Crowley’s life.

The only sound in the house was that of a steady drip, a hair too heavy to be water. The sound was rich, full, and haunting, had anyone been awake or near enough to hear it.

It wasn't the first time Dean had woken to the metallic smell of dried blood, but never before had it been so strong. He groaned weakly, unwilling to give up the peaceful dreams that had been filling his mind. His perception was fuzzy, filtered through his overworked Grace, and he was only barely aware that for some reason, he was laying in a warm puddle.

The pain was almost an afterthought, and he became aware of it the same moment he realized his Grace was screaming, and the smell of blood suddenly made sense.

\--

"Bobby!! Is the tub full yet!?"

Gabriel received a non-answer from the bathroom where the sound of running water was prevalent. Sam swallowed bile, feeling sick to his stomach as blood dripped onto the floor from the sodden bedding. Dean was howling around the leather belt Gabriel had worked between his teeth to keep him from breaking his jaw, and Sam held him tightly to keep him from thrashing.

The sound of the water cut off and Sam heard Gabriel chanting, blessing the water In the tub, and the heavy footsteps of Bobby coming down the hall.

"Let's get him up," Bobby said gruffly and Sam nodded, wrapping his arms around Dean's chest.

Dean was at least aware enough to latch onto his arms and Sam hissed in pain at his brother's tight grip, the crack of his ulna snapping loud, carried on the tension in the air. Bobby wrapped his arms around both of Dean's legs, and together they lifted him easily. Dean tensed, whining in pain, and Sam flinched as the cause of Dean's agony, two new fledgling wings, lashed out and caught him in the leg.

The thick, wax-like secretion coating Dean's wings burned when it touched his skin and was no doubt tormenting Dean himself. Gabriel met them at the door to the bathroom, and moved quickly out of their way as they carried him to the tub.

Dean screamed around the leather belt when the holy water first touched his wings, his thrashing beginning anew and Sam yelped when he heard Dean's teeth snap together, biting through the belt. Then Gabriel was there, helping them push Dean into the water and giving his own arm to bite down on.

Bobby instantly went to work washing as much of Dean's wings as he could reach, and only a couple minutes passed before Dean suddenly went limp, having passed out from the pain.

They'd been doing this for three days. The first day, Dean's wings had been little more than violent gashes that opened his back from scapula to sacrum. Every day following, they never failed in their relentless pursuit to rip their way out of Dean's back. By the time his Grace had healed the previous rents, his wings would be pushing out another foot, blood gushing as nerves and capillaries alike were torn to make way for new muscle and tendon.

Bobby had tried to sedate Dean at first, especially after Gabriel told them what was happening, but the constant state of repair his Grace was in kept pushing the sedative from his system. They took shifts staying with him, but the spells when his wings were pushing through were pure agony as nerve endings split and rewrote along the new bones.

Once the build-up on the new feathers was cleaned off, Gabriel cleaned the sheets with a snap of his fingers while Bobby and Sam carefully wrapped his wings. They were finally beginning to look like wings, and not freakish deformations.

“You good?” Bobby looked up at Sam and Sam nodded.

“Yeah,”

“I’ll get back to tracking Cas then,” Bobby finished shortly, brushing a hand over Dean’s head before he slipped out.

Gabriel leaned into Sam’s side, and Sam wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“You’re not okay.” Sam said softly and Gabriel shrugged.

“I haven’t been okay for a long time, baby.” Gabriel said softly, rubbing his cheek on Sam’s chest. “It’s nothing new, but Dean’s increasing lack of humanity is a fun distraction.”

Sam sighed, kissing the top of his head. “You’re going to be okay. I’m going to make you okay.”

Gabriel leaned up onto his tiptoes and pulled Sam down for a kiss. “You be okay for both of us, Sammich.”

Gabriel pulled away, rubbing his head as he slipped out and Sam felt a sharp pang in his chest as Gabriel closed off his side of the bond, keeping Sam from seeing his pain. Sam closed his eyes, wondering why those around him always felt they couldn’t rely on him.

"Sam,"

Sam looked up to see Dean's eyes half open, glazed but lucid. Dean grimaced as he shifted onto his stomach, his wings twitching once before he settled again.

"Wings should come with a warning. If I'd have known it would hurt this bad, I'd never have checked that box."

Sam shook his head, fighting the urge to grin.

"I want to know when you signed up to become a angel, dumbass,"

"Won't no sign-up sheet. Just one of the perks of dating an angel I guess."

"No," Sam said shortly, his tone turning serious. "I'm mated to an _archangel_ , and this isn't happening to me. Not even close. Gabe and I don't have half of what you and Cas have, so spill the details."

Dean pushed himself up onto his elbows. "It's complicated."

"It damn well better be! You're growing _wings_ , Dean!"

Dean smiled softly, almost to himself, and nodded. "You remember when me and Cas did our whole bonding thing?”

“You mean, when you idiotically tried to pull Castiel’s entire Grace inside you?” Sam shook his head as he pulled a chair over to the side of Dean’s bed, looking back after Gabriel once again, before settling into the chair. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean struggled to sit up, new wings thrashing in his effort to balance the new weight. Sam leaned forward, helping him get into a comfortable position, which ending up behind half on/half off the mound of pillows Gabriel had secured with one white wing stretched out to either side.

“Good now?” he asked quietly and Dean nodded.

“When Cas was inside me, well, it tore holes in my soul.” Dean explained quietly. “And his Grace got shredded as well.”

Sam nodded. “I remember. The two of you were in crap condition for a while.”

“Yeah, so...uh, part of his Grace got left inside me. Apparently it liked what it found, because it’s latched on and, well...” Dean gestured to the wings extending from his back.

“And that’s why you can smite demons?” Sam asked incredulously.

“It started a while back, back when Kali had you by the short and curlies,” Dean quipped. “I ran into Ruby...”

“Ruby!?” Sam yelped, eyes widening.

“Yeah,” Dean continued, his voice dropping. “Sorry, man,”

Sam shook his head. “No, it’s okay. What happened?”

“She was possessing some poor kid priest. Cas and I went in to exorcise the guy, and she trapped us, banished Cas, and tried to kill me. She was about to, too, but then...this heat, Cas’ Grace, came out of nowhere and held her back until Cas was able to finish her off.”

Sam stared at his brother, incredulous. “That was months ago, and you didn’t tell me?”

“Cas didn’t know what was going to happen to me.” Dean explained, shrugging one shoulder. “He didn’t know if the Grace would stick around, or burn out, or what. I was going to tell you, I just wanted to have, you know, something concrete.”

Sam waved his hands at the wings stretching across the room. “Dean, you’re a _Nephilim._ I think that’s pretty damn concrete.”

Sam watched as a smile crept onto Dean’s face, even as he winced in pain. Suddenly, it was gone just as fast as it had appeared, replaced by fear.

“Where’s Cas? Where’s _Simon?_ ”

* * *

 

“ _He’s fine, Dean, I promise.”_

Dean couldn’t help but sigh, running a hand over his face. On one hand, he was grateful Crowley had the preconception to take Simon to Jody’s, but on the other hand, he really missed his son.

Still, even he couldn’t deny that by his side was the last place Simon needed to be right then.

“Okay,” Dean huffed. “Thanks, Jody, we really owe you one.”

_“You just beat this Samael bitch and get Cas back. I’ve got the baby taken care of.”_

Dean said his goodbyes and pressed ‘end call.’ He closed his eyes and reached out. It was only a few miles, but it still hurt to reach far enough to brush Simon’s thoughts and offer him love and pride. Reaching Cas was out of the question.

He set his phone in his lap and wheeled Bobby’s old wheelchair out of the kitchen and into the library where he had the desk covered in ancient books Gabriel had pulled out of the darkest corners of the planet, angelic lore that hadn’t been seen since Lucifer fell. His wings dragged behind him, too heavy for him to walk with them yet as they were still wet and new.

Gabriel came in just as he was pulling the nearest book to him, and set another couple on the desk.

“Let me look at your wings.” Gabriel said succinctly and Dean couldn’t protest when Gabriel began slowly unraveling the bandages.

The wounds on his back had all but healed, and his wings towered just beyond the length of his body when folded. Gabriel’s hands on his wings made his stomach twist at first, then the stretch of Gabriel’s Grace over them was like cool water over a burn. Dean couldn’t help a soft groan of relief, his wings stretching of their own accord into Gabriel’s touch.

“Damn...” he grunted as Gabriel smoothed his feathers into line. “No wonder Cas gets worked up so easy...”

Gabriel chuckled behind him. “This is nothing, just grooming. Wait until Cas himself gets his hands on your wings. Christmas is going to come early for you, Deano.”

Dean yelped when Gabriel’s hand reached the small axillary feathers just now beginning to push through the skin between his shoulder blades.

“Still tender?” Gabriel asked softly and Dean nodded, gritting his teeth.

“Hurts,” Dean forced out, and Gabriel nodded, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“I remember when Castiel’s feathers came in. He cried for weeks.”

Dean smiled, shaking his head. “I can’t imagine it.”

“Well, he was just a baby,” Gabriel pulled a chair over and sat down, opening the nearest book.

“You think he’s okay?” Dean asked after a long silence had filled the space between them and Gabriel leaned back, looking up.

“He’s a lot tougher now than he used to be. Reforged, you might say. And...”

Dean looked up as Gabriel paused, watching as Gabriel smiled.

“He said, ‘Don’t follow me.’ Whatever’s going on, whatever’s happening, Cas has a plan, and I trust him.”

Dean frowned, pressing a hand to his chest where he could feel the steady pull of his bond with Castiel. It ached and burned and strained to reunite with Castiel. His new Grace didn’t make it any easier. If anything, it made the bond stronger.

“Yeah, well, this little plan of his needs to hurry up and bring him back home before I grip his ass tight and drag him back.”

* * *

 

Castiel panted, his lips chapped and dry from the stale air, his throat on fire, but these concerns were the least of his worries as his very veins seemed scorched from the acid of the demon blood. The bowl was nearly empty, and if not for the iron ring around his head, his chin would be resting on his chest. His entire body was limp with exhaustion, his eyes almost fully closed, only a tired ring of blue visible that followed Samael as ze moved around the room, cleaning up as if bored.

“What...what use...what would you do to him...” Castiel whispered, his voice echoing in the tiny room. “If...”

“If you told me where to find him?” Samael finished for him, turning to lean back against the table where ze’d laid out zis tools. “I’d kill him, of course. The Purge must be finished.”

Castiel laughed weakly, his head giving as much of a shake as it could in its restraints. “If you simply wanted to kill him, you’d find a way. You wouldn’t need me. You need him alive.”

Samael smirked, twirling a black blade through zis fingers. “I hear you beat this before.”

“Inferi Alati,” Castiel trembled, watching the blade. “You’re avoiding my question.”

He hissed as Samael dragged the blade down his bare chest, and spires of black taint began spiraling out through the blood already coating his chest. Samael looked him over, then shrugged. “Well, now you and I have all the time in the world to talk before you die. Why don’t you rest a little while, and I’ll be back.”

Ze started towards the bound door when Castiel began laughing. Samael turned, frowning as Castiel’s laughter began to edge towards hysteria, Grace beginning to leak through the gashes on his chest.

“It’s a lover’s quarrel, isn’t it?” Castiel noted, and Samael felt a snarl curl zis lip. “Did he break your heart? Have a taste for the wilder side of the universe? I certainly understand. He does have a certain sex appeal.”

Samael laughed. “You’re grasping at straws, little Castiel. All I need is his blood, nothing more.”

“His blood?” Castiel tilted his head quizzically. “What could you possibly need his blood for? You certainly have enough demon blood on hand, or did you run out torturing me?”

“Clearly I haven’t tortured you enough.” Samael snapped, turning back to Castiel. The black spires of Inferi Alati were spreading across Castiel’s chest to his arms and down his stomach, but Castiel didn’t even seemed bothered. “It’s his own arrogance that will be his downfall, you can be sure of that, just as it will be yours.”

“I could’ve told you that,” Castiel continued to laugh. “Crowley is nothing _but_ arrogance,”

“He crossed the line when he thought he could trap Michael in the Cage for eternity by destroying the Key.”

“What key?” Castiel’s shoulders were shaking with laughter.

“The rings of the Four Horsemen,” Samael shouted exasperatedly. “Crowley destroyed them, and in doing so he took the power of the rings into himself, a power he has yet untapped. Nonetheless, it makes him the new Key, and I will slash his throat to free my king.”

Castiel fell still and silent. “You mean to release Michael and Lucifer...”

It was Samael’s turn to laugh, stepping back in a light-hearted quickstep. “Do you really think Lucifer would have lasted this long, trapped in the Cage with Michael? Have you not felt the earth shake? No, I will release Michael, and he will take his rightful place on the throne of Heaven. He who is as God shall become him.”

“The Apocalypse...”

“There shall be no grand battle,” Samael continued, zis voice rising with pride and grandeur. “I almost regret it, but in the end, it doesn’t matter. Once Michael takes the throne, humanity will be wiped from existence like the plague that it is.”

“I will stop you.”

Samael laughed, stepping forward and closing zis hand around Castiel’s throat, clenching hard over his windpipe. Castiel grunted in pain, lifting his chin as best he could.

“You will? How?”

Castiel smirked, his body tensing, and Samael recoiled as the Inferi Alati began to retreat under the wave of Castiel’s Grace, dripping from the now healing wounds on his chest to fall harmlessly onto the floor.

“Michael has taught you much, but he apparently didn’t teach you how to properly contain an archangel.”

The Enochian on his bindings flared and the metal shattered. Castiel stepped down from the rack, his eyes alight as his Grace began to glare brighter, surpassing even the glow of the bright angelic fields outside the dark room.

“Thank you for your cooperation.” Castiel said lightly and Samael stared at him in horror.

“You can’t stop this!” Samael shouted. “You can’t stop him! It’s beyond you!”

“His Will be done.”

Samael flinched violently, falling back from the tremorous wave of Castiel’s grace, the table giving way as ze fell against it. Zis instruments scattered across the floor as ze curled in on himself, shielding himself behind his own wings. When ze dared to look again, Castiel was gone.

* * *

 

When the flash of light burst across the night sky, Bobby was asleep in his recliner, having given up both bed to his sons. He'd never admit to it, but under the quilt, he had draped one of Crowley's forgotten suit jackets over himself. At first, when the light burned into his eyes even though his closed lids, Bobby thought he was dreaming.

Then the very ground was shaking, and hair-trigger instincts had him on his feet as books fell from the shelves in the library, glasses shattering on the kitchen floor.

“What the hell’s happening?” He heard Dean shout and ran through the quaking house to where Dean was struggling with his newfound wings. Bobby grabbed the boy’s wings and forced them through the door despite Dean’s pained yelp.

Sam and Gabriel came down the stairs hand in hand and Bobby flinched as he felt the archangel’s Grace fold over them all, creating a shield around them from the debris flying.

“Earthquake?!” Sam shouted over the growing roar and Bobby shook his head.

"It ain't comin' from underneath!"

Just as soon as it had started, it stopped, the sudden silence nearly palpable in its intensity. Dean rushed outside, quickly followed by Bobby, Sam, and Gabriel.

The night was lit up by a rumbling cloud to the far west, lighting clear amongst its billows. The black ash of the cloud was lost against the night sky, but the fire was enough backlight for them to see its mountainous rise.

 "Tell me that's not what I think it is." Dean groaned, his wings puffed up in agitation.

"What is it?" Sam asked quickly, Gabriel squeezing his hand.

"Bobby," Dean started slowly. "How far is Yellowstone from here?"

"About 12 hours," Bobby answered solemnly.

"No way," Sam breathed. "There's no way that after all this, Yellowstone is erupting. That's just not fair."

"It's worse than that," Gabriel said softly, his eyes wide as he watched the smoke billow into the sky, blacking out the stars. Dean spun, nearly catching Sam across the chest with one wing, but Sam managed to duck out of the way just in time.

“What could be worse? That’s a supervolcano! The ash only is gonna kill half the planet!” Dean shouted, his wings flared, stark white against the night sky.

“There’s  a reason Yellowstone hasn’t erupted in so long,” Gabriel countered, his voice firm in the growing wind. “It’s sitting on top of the Gate of Hell.”

“A Hellmouth?” Sam exclaimed and Gabriel shook his head.

“No, not _a_ Hellmouth, _the_ Hellmouth.” He turned and pointed to where the supervolcano was pouring ash and rock into the air. “The front door of Hell is wide open, and everyone’s making a break for it.”

"Son of a bitch," Sam breathed, and Dean smirked despite himself.

"Stole my line."

Bobby huffed, shaking his head. "Well, we've closed one Hellmouth, we can do it again."

Gabriel laughed. "It took an army to close the Gate last time. How are you going to pull it off?"

Dean laughed. "Haven't you learned yet? We're Winchesters. We're a one-man army, and you've got two of us."

* * *

 

The air was full of the Arabic chant of the midday salaam, despite the nearly deserted nature of the mosque. Many miles north of the nearest town and seated in the foothills of the Himalayan mountains, few tourists ventured so far.

It was the very reason Rahjim liked this mosque, and why it was where he'd spent the last four summers. After four years of quiet, near solitude, the last thing he was expecting on the humid morning was for a pained scream to break the silence.

The mosque had been built many centuries before when a man traveling to Mecca had felt what he described as 'the presence of Allah.'" He swore that Allah had spoken to him and told him to build a mosque on that location, so he did so. He didn't know that what he felt was a remnant burst of grace from a long ago battle between two archangels. The same energy that now drew a long cursed life to it for redemption.

Rahjim ran through the trees, following the anguished wails, and he drew in a sharp breath when he came upon a strange winged man thrashing in the brush. The bright white wings were wet and heavy, and the man's pale skin red from the oil that dripped and burned down his back.

He swallowed and straightened up, drawing the courage to move forward, avoiding the strange thing's thrashing wings.

"Be calm," he said softly, stepping around to lay a hand on the back of the man'a head. Sweat had plastered the man's yellow hair to his forehead, and the briars and brush had cut into his bare skin. "You're safe,"

The man groaned beneath his hand, but went still and looked up at him curiously, the dim light catching in the blue tints in his gray eyes.

"India, huh?" He murmured. "Bollocks."

* * *

 

Castiel knew it was risky, staying in Heaven when Samael was on full alert and no doubt seeking him, but he was also more than certain that ze would search Earth first. It was more than difficult to continue to stay away from Dean, but he needed help.

Moreso, his brothers and sisters deserved to know the truth.

“My family...” he spoke, and the angels raised their heads at his voice, his true voice.

He spoke to them in the language of the angels, in the language of light and music, but more importantly, it was a language of truth, a language that was impossible to misconstrue, impossible to lie.

Perhaps Enochian had been created for this purpose.

“My family...” Castiel spoke again. “My friends, my brothers, my sisters, I come before you to offer you what no one has offered you in so very long: the truth. You have been lied to, deceived, expertly, by one who would have your loyalty despite the chaos and destruction he has inflicted upon you.”

Though his moulting was not yet finished, Castiel’s voice carried the weight of an archangel, and more and more angels appeared before him to listen.

“I know you have no reason to trust me,” He continued. “I have been gone so very long from you, and brought here only by force, but the world that our Father entrusted to us is in grave danger. There is one who means not only to release Lucifer from his Cage, if he is not already destroyed, but extinguish the entire human race.”

There was a murmur of collective horror across the angelic Host, but even so, there was a mix of approval, even joy. Castiel made quick note of this, before pushing on.

“I stand against him. I will stand against him with my last breath, but I ask you to stand with me. Stand with me, and act on the last order that is purely our Father’s own, and not twisted and corrupted by Michael’s deceit.”

There was a ripple of disbelief at the idea that it was Michael who had deceived them, but Castiel drew himself up, opening himself to the entire Host. He exposed himself, his belief, his memory, his knowledge, in a way that no archangel had ever done before. All his memories of his time on Earth, something that many of them had never experienced, and even his love for Dean was laid bare. Their light filled him as it had not in so very long, and Castiel wept in his love for them. He held his hands out, offering himself to them.

“Stand with me, and I will give you the truth.”

* * *

 

Dean had flopped into the couch, fully aware that he looked like a pouting toddler and not caring. His wings were stretched out to either side of him, draped over the couch, pure white fluff. He shook them once in annoyance, sending puffs of down across the living room, and Sam straightened up from where he was shoving gear into a duffel.

"You're not going."

Dean huffed, looking away, and Sam sighed. "Come on, Dean! You can't walk six feet with those things without falling over. How much help are you going to be against demons? And we're just going to scout. You'll stick out like a sore thumb."

"Whatever." Dean griped, glaring at his new wings. _Traitors._

Bobby came in from the library, setting a couple hex bags on top of Sam's supplies.

"Just waiting on your boyfriend and then we'll be all set." He turned to Dean, inwardly smiling at the eldest Winchester's not so subtle pout. "Try not to burn the house down while we're gone."

Dean smirked. "I've always wanted to throw a frat party."

Bobby rolled his eyes as Gabriel came up from the cellar and went straight to Dean's side. He dropped his own bag to press both hands to the humerus of Dean's right wing. Dean suppressed a pained whine, gritting his teeth until Gabriel was done.

Gabriel smacked the side of his head playfully, earning himself a glower from Dean.

"Okay, grumpy, your wings are fully in but still new so no flying or smiting or any of that. Just chill out, eat ice cream, and watch your soaps. 'Kay, pumpkin?"

"Get out of here before I kick your ass."

“Please,” Sam said softly. “We can handle this, and we’ll be back in a couple hours.”

Dean didn’t bother to answer, instead kicking his heels up on the table and ruffling his wings. Sam was the last out the door, following Gabriel and Bobby. Dean waited until the rush of Gabriel’s wings announced their departure, and he let his head fall back against the couch.

“This sucks,” he griped to no one.

It took him three tries to get up, the weight of his wings pulling him back down, but he finally got them folded to where he could stand up. With his center of gravity so shifted, he had to shrug his shoulders and lean forward to compensate.

“You know, you guys are supposed to work with me,” he addressed his wings. “Not be so friggin’ annoying. And you _itch._ ”

Dean headed to the fridge to grab a beer, and stood looking at them for nearly a full minute, but he’d been too long sober to pick one up now. He’d promised Castiel, so he poured himself a glass of milk and headed back into the living room.

“Okay, we’re going to get to know one another,” he murmured, draining the glass and setting it to one side. Ignoring Gabriel’s warning, he rolled his shoulders, closed his eyes, and reached out to his Grace. It greeted him warmly, and its center had moved from his chest to pulse through his wings.

It took just a thought, and his wings burst up and out, stretching as close to their full breadth as they could in the room. The curling pollux brushed the ceiling, and the tips of his primary feathers curled in to keep from hitting the walls. Dean grinned as he raised them up, feeling the new muscles coil tightly as his wings arched over his head, and he brought them down with a hard rush. He cursed as they smacked into the floor, the resulting shock wave of wind sending all the furniture skidding and cracking the far window.

“So maybe we shouldn’t do that here...” Dean chastised himself, but his Grace was now humming happily, eager to be put to work.

He lost a few feathers getting out the back door, but that was nothing compared to the twenty minutes he spent situating the lanky new appendages inside the Impala so that he could drive. The familiar rumble of the Impala was soothing, Castiel having managed to save it from the fire, and Dean turned the car out onto the highway with every window rolled down, the wind soothing on his wings. He cranked the music, the roar of Zeppelin reminding him of his and Castiel’s first anniversary.

“Where the hell are you, man?” he sighed.

Turning off the highway, he wasn’t prepared for just how devastated their house was, tucked back among the trees, several of which had been torn from their roots and lay scattered across the fields. The farm house itself had been leveled, and the garage he’d been painstakingly putting together looked like someone had just put their foot down on it. If, of course, that someone happened to be roughly the size of the Chrysler building.

Dean couldn’t pull up to the house, the driveway blocked by the old oak Castiel said had been there for over a thousand years. He cut the engine and sighed, unable to stop himself from thinking of what might’ve happened if Castiel hadn’t gotten them out.

“Why is it always us, Cas?” he asked quietly, the front steps holding beneath him, and his wings stretched involuntarily as he began sifting through the rubble. He stumbled back when a chunk of wood and cement came up as lightly as if it had been of styrofoam, and he held it in his hand incredulously before tossing it to one side.

He found the remnants of the stainless steel stove he’d painstakingly installed for Cas, and a post and half of the headboard of their bed. The bottom landing of the stairs was still intact, Castiel’s careful Enochian carved into the baseboards and managing to turn extensive protective sigils into works of art.

Dean didn’t realize he was crying until he saw a flash of yellow where Simon’s nursery had been, and lifted the now ash-covered bee toy from the remains.

“Hey there, Buzz!” he laughed, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “I know one kid who’s going to be happy to see you.”

The stuffed bee smiled up at him perpetually, and Dean tucked him under his arm, sitting down on a jutting piece of foundation.

“I’m gonna kill’em,” He said to the bee, smoothing ash from its floppy wings, trying to clean it as best he could with just his hands. Castiel hadn’t gotten around to teaching him how to angel mojo stuff clean, and he wasn’t going to risk Simon’s favorite toy. “I’m gonna find every single one of the sons of bitches who did this and I’m going to tear their wings off and start an angel pillow factory.”

“How much should we charge?”

Dean was on his feet in an instant, spinning around to see Castiel standing a few feet behind him, stark naked and looking absolutely exhausted, despite his smile. Dean vaulted over the foundation, stumbling slightly and his wings flared to keep his balance, and he just reached Castiel as the angel’s strength gave way, dropping him wearily into Dean’s arms. Dean fell to his knees, his wings involuntarily wrapping around Castiel.

“God dammit, what did they do to you?” Dean breathed, tracing the marks on Castiel’s skin that were only milemarkers to the damage done to his Grace.

“It doesn’t matter.” Castiel breathed, still smiling as he rested against Dean’s chest. “I know what Samael is planning now, and I can plan accordingly.”

“You...you let them torture you just so you could get intel!?” Dean practically screamed before clutching Castiel to him. “You stupid...stupid son of a bitch, don’t you fucking do that to me again, you hear me?!”

Castiel’s breath was warm on his neck and he tightened his grip around his waist, his wings automatically tightening as well, trapping them both in a cocoon of white feathers..

“You have wings,” Castiel murmured and Dean blushed.

“Yeah, they, uh, just came in.”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel said quietly, his eyes sad as he reached out to trace his hand along the inside of the nearest wing. “That must’ve been incredibly painful for you.”

“I’ve had worse.” Dean managed, his voice suddenly rough and breathless as Castiel traced his wings with barely there touches. “Cas...”

Castiel smirked knowingly, dragging his fingers through Dean’s feathers and Dean keened, shuddering involuntarily. “I can’t imagine what this must be like for you.”

“Cas!” Dean yelped, grabbing both of Castiel’s hands in his and holding them tightly, panting as he tried to calm himself from the waves of pleasure his wings were rolling in.. “Right, I get it, payback for torturing your wings is _so_ in my future.”

Castiel smiled at him, straddling his lap, and he surged up, catching Castiel’s mouth hungrily and releasing Castiel’s hands to pull the angel flush against his chest. Castiel slid one hand through his hair, the other arm wrapping around his shoulders.

 _I missed you._ Dean breathed through their bond, smiling when Castiel’s bond opened up to him, Castiel’s unbridled emotions washing over him. Love, longing, worry, pain, and Dean took it all because it meant Castiel was, in this moment, completely open to him.

“I’m surprised you didn’t tear down Heaven to reach me,” Castiel whispered against the shell of his ear, tracing the handprint on his shoulder idly.

Dean shrugged, kissing Castiel’s shoulder. “You said not to follow, and I trust you.”

Castiel stiffened against him, the open bond wavering. Dean lifted his head, frowning at the pain that flashed across his mate’s face.

“You shouldn’t,” Castiel said, looking away from him. “I haven’t told you everything, and I don’t plan to. There are some burdens you can’t bear with me, and I know you would try.”

“Look, Cas,” Dean interrupted before Castiel could continue. “I don’t need to know, okay? I said I trust you, and if that means trusting you to get us through this, even if I don’t know all the cards we’re holding, then I’m cool with that.”

“Dean,” Castiel whispered and Dean squeezed him lightly.

“Just promise me that we’ll come out on the other side.”

"I promise," Castiel said solemnly, leaning forward to let his forehead rest against Dean's. "You, Sam, Simon...I will do all in my power to keep you safe, and bring you through the soon-to-come battle."

Dean smiled weakly. "And you?"

He felt Castiel's sorrow wash over the bond, tinged with apprehension and fear.

"I can't promise that, Dean."

Dean closed his eyes, his brow furrowing as he leaned forward against Castiel, holding his angel tightly.

"Then I'll promise you," he said firmly. "You're gonna make it through this, Cas, and we're gonna rebuild this house and make it a home again. We're gonna get married and adopt five kids and name them all Bobby John."

Castiel laughed softly. "Even the girls?"

"Don't be sexist, Cas," Dean teased, and Castiel let him steal a kiss.

"I love you, Dean. I need you to know that no matter what happens, I love you."

"I know, Cas."

Castiel brushed their lips together once more before nodding, almost to himself.

"Now where's Crowley? I need to speak with him immediately."

Dean’s face fell and he looked down in shame. “I...I failed, Cas, I couldn’t do it. He’s dead.”

The pleased contentment on Castiel’s face flashed in an instant to devastation.

“No...no, that’s not possible, that’s not how it’s supposed to go. Dean...”

“I’m sorry, Cas,” Dean breathed, refusing to look his mate in the eye until Castiel cupped his face with both hands.

“Tell me exactly what happened.”

“I don’t know, I passed out,” Dean quickly but Castiel shook his head and he felt trembling calm wash over him from Castiel’s side of the bond.

“Before that, tell me, Dean.”

“L-Look,” Dean asked, laying his hands over Castiel’s. “Look for yourself, look.”

He opened his mind to Castiel, trying to pull up the memories, so fleeting and distracted as he’d been that moment. To him they were just raw, visceral emotions, but to Castiel it might be something else.

“I...I did what you told me to,” Dean whispered. “I reached inside him, reached for his Grace, and I gave him my own. Just like you said, but I had so little after the battle. Maybe I didn’t have enough, maybe I wasn’t enough...”

He could feel Castiel looking through his memories, and he felt tears sliding down his cheeks and pooling in the hollows of Castiel’s palms. He could feel Crowley’s chest beneath his hand, around him, Crowley’s tattered Grace straining to reach his even when Crowley himself would never dare to ask for help. He was offering Crowley all of his Grace, every scrap of it, just to fix him, to prove that Castiel’s faith in him wasn’t unfounded.

“Oh Dean,” Castiel was whispering. “You gave it all to him?”

Dean nodded eagerly. “Gave him all I had.”

“And when you woke up, your wings were growing in?”

Dean yelped in surprise when Castiel kissed him fiercely, and Castiel was grinning when he opened his eyes. “What? What did I do?”

“So much more than I expected, my love,” Castiel breathed. “You are so amazing.”

Dean blushed, looking at Castiel incredulously. “I--what?”

“Dean,” Castiel laughed. “Dean, you...you perfect human being, you. Your mortal enemy, and you still give him absolutely everything you have in an effort to save his life.”

“You asked me to,” Dean whispered. “Cas...”

“You did more than just save his life,” Castiel breathed, pressing light kisses over his face. “More than just graft your Grace to his, more than patch it, you _restored_ it. With the energy of your moulting Grace, his Grace was able to rebuild itself. He would’ve been forced from his vessel, his own natural body being reborn. He’s not dead, we just have to find him.”

Dean laughed suddenly, weakly. “I did it?”

“You did it, you did everything.” Castiel squeezed him tightly.

“How do we find him?” Dean pulled Castiel to his feet, unfazed by Castiel’s nudity in the light of the new information.

“Does Bobby have anything of Crowley’s? Anything physical, like blood, or a feather?”

“His wings, Bobby has the ash of his wings.”

Castiel pulled Dean back to him for another kiss. “We’re not out of this yet, mate of mine.”

* * *

 

There were police cars ferrying people out of the blast zone, but pyroclastic flows had decimated much of the regions around Yellowstone. Earthquakes took as many lives as the flowing lava did as the caldera began ripping itself from seam to seam, ash and rock seething into the air.

Gabriel kept the two humans in a protective bubble of his Grace, preventing them from breathing in the deadly smoke. As the rising sun began to light the shaking ground beneath them, the difference between the billowing volcanic smoke began to be visibly different from the sin-black smoke of the demons. Sam looked up, watching the plumes of smoke that drove directly against the wind, no doubt seeking meatsuits and heading for the local towns in Utah and Colorado.

“Okay,” He heard Gabriel say above the roaring and stopped, Bobby stopping at his shoulder with the shotgun held loose in his hands.

Gabriel turned to face them, tugging them down to kneel behind the rocky outcrop as if it would do much good with the demons roaring over their heads.

“I thought there’d be more demons.” Gabriel said so softly that Sam had to strain to hear him.

“Not enough for you?” Bobby frowned, gesturing up to the demons pouring over their heads.

“Not enough for the Gate of Hell to be open.” Gabriel said shortly. “I think it’s still intact, they’re just pushing through the cracks. If its intact, I may be able to close it on my own. I need you two to back me up, watch the entrance, and keep any demons from coming after me.”

Sam nodded before Bobby could protest. “Where’s the entrance?”

Gabriel grinned before tapping the ground beneath them. He pushed back the few inches of volcanic ash that had gathered there, revealing the shale beneath them. At a spoken word of Enochian, fiery sigils began to appear, spreading out over the stone, glowing slightly in the dim light. Fortunately for them, it just looked like another seam of the supervolcano opening up, and the demons paid them no mind.

For the moment.

Gabriel pushed against the stone, and it rippled like water beneath his touch. He flicked his wrist, his angel blade falling into his hand. He offered it to Sam, and as Sam’s hand closed around the handle, Gabriel leaned forward, stealing a kiss.

“I’ll be right back,” he winked at Sam before cannon-balling into the stone.

Sam rolled his eyes, pulling a shotgun from the duffelbag at his feet. Bobby stood next to him, peering out into the smoke.

“Come on, you black-eyed bitches,” Bobby whispered fiercely and Sam looked up at him, at first in surprise, then he smiled, cocking his own shotgun.

The sound alerted a demon passing over them, and Sam had a fleeting moment to think it looked sort of like a Sentinel from The Matrix in the way it turned, a giant plume of smoke, to face them. Then it was racing towards them and Bobby’s shotgun blast echoed, raw and out of place against the roaring of the volcano.

“Here they come.”

Sam stepped forward involuntarily as he turned, his back to Bobby’s, the shotgun in his hand loud as he fired a shell into the nearest column of smoke. The stone that had been liquid for Gabriel trembled underneath him, not quite liquid but not quite solid. The demon he shot screamed and fell back, but another was quick to take its place.

Bobby was pumping through his shells, and as the last shot rang out, he reached back for the demon-killing knife, but by the time he’d turned around, there was a massive demon feet from him. He waited to feel the scorch of the demon pouring down his throat, but it stopped scant inches from his face, straining. Bobby stared in wonder as something dragged the demon back, and it screamed, flailing. There was a sickening crunch, and the smoke faded away.

“What the hell?” He exclaimed before feeling hot breath against his face, seconds before an invisible tongue licked him from throat to forehead.

Bobby grunted in disgust, wiping his face with the back of his sleeve. “You must be Growley.”

He felt a huge head nudge its way under his hand and he scratched automatically, hearing the hellhound’s tail whacking against the stone.

“Well,” Bobby shrugged. “Sic’em, boy.”

The hellhound got to its feet, and Bobby’s hands clamped to his ear as the hound howled, the sound echoing even above the volcano, and Bobby felt a chill when the call was answered.

Sam had run out of shells moments before and was slashing with Gabriel’s blade, the demons fearing to near Sam Winchester holding an archangel’s blade. Suddenly, Sam felt an invisible force throw him back against the rocky outcrop, and he yelled in pain as he felt a jagged rock pierce his back, too near his spine for comfort. He flashed back to the moment he’d been stabbed there so long ago, and he fell to the ground, coughing up blood. Dark spots danced in front of his eyes, but he held on, and when he was able to see again, there were heavy pawprints in the ash.

Facing _away_ from him.

He scrambled for Gabriel’s blade, breathing a sigh of relief when he found the handle buried in ash, but the hellhound made no move towards him. Instead, when a demon came lunging towards them, it was shoved back, screeching as the hellhound tore into it.

“What is happening!?” Sam yelled, and suddenly felt his head wrenched back, a demon pouring into his throat. A searing heat opened up in his chest, and he coughed violently as the demon was forced back out, the demon squealing in pain and Sam sucked in heavy breaths of the lethal volcanic ash. He fought the urge to rub his chest where the anti-possession tattoo was still burning.

Just then, what sounded like a bomb exploding assaulted the air and the sudden blast of superheated air pushed Sam flat on his stomach. He was dimly aware of the hellhound standing over him as the air seared his lungs, Gabriel’s blade still cool in his hand, and he dragged it back to his mouth, letting it cool the air as he breathed.

He felt a hand grab him then, pulling him up, and Bobby was shoving him forward then, away from the entrance Gabriel had disappeared down and into a tiny cave in the face of the newly sheared mountain.

“Pyroclastic flow!” Bobby shouted, and then the light cut out as hellhounds blocked the entrance. Sam pressed his face to Bobby’s chest, still coughing from the attempted possession and the volcanic air they were breathing. He felt Bobby curl over him, a hand pressed to the back of his head. The roaring outside the cave began to grow, louder and louder, until Sam felt like his very bones were vibrating with the sound.

The next thing he was aware of was something biting gently into his shoulder and dragging him upwards. He felt light against his face and flinched, blinking to adjust to the now searing white light.

How he knew it was noon, he wasn’t sure, but the heavy clouds in the air were doing little to block the sun. Or maybe it was something supernatural that was bleaching the landscape around them. Sam spun as he got to his feet, trying to see Bobby, but everything around him was empty.

Sam heard one of the hellhounds growl, and he turned, spotting half a dozen demons in brand new meatsuits. He squeezed the hilt of Gabriel’s blade, trying not to let himself think about how long Gabriel had been gone, or where Bobby could be. The apparent leader of the two was smirking at him, and he tilted his head back, listening to one of the others talk in quiet Hellspeak, then stepped forward to address Sam.

“We’ve got your precious archangel.” The demon announced, and Sam couldn’t stop a smile. “He’s going to tell us how to open the Gate, one way or another, so why don’t you just give up now? This world is ours.”

“First problem with your bluff,” Sam laughed. “I’m a Winchester. We don’t give up. Second...I know Hellspeak.”

He looked down at the two hellhounds at his sides, then back up at the demons.

“ _Prgel par!”_ Sam commanded, and the hellhounds lunged forward. The demons scattered as the same monsters that were meant to serve them took rather to tearing them apart.

Pain flashed against his temple, and he groaned as a vision flashed violent before his eyes before peeling away. His eyes went wide, his mouth open in a silent ‘O’ at the information his gift had suddenly offered, and then he was running.

\--

Bobby had lost Sam when Growley began dragging him up from the cave. There were at least three hellhounds there, but Growley hadn’t let him go until they were back at the entrance Gabriel had left them at. Growley began digging through the rock fragments and sediment left by the pyroclastic flow, and after an attempt to help left him with scalded palms, Bobby decided to let the hellhound do the work.

The light was blinding, wherever it was coming from, and as Bobby cast about to find the source, he noticed at least a dozen newly-packaged demons heading straight for them. Bobby sighed,  but tightened his grip on the demon knife. He was going down fighting if it was the last thing he did.

“Bobby!” He heard Sam shout behind him, and he turned.

\--

Gabriel pressed his hands against the Gate of Hell, smiling as he found he’d been correct. Whatever had forced its way through had just been seeping through the cracks, crack which he now began refilling, reworking the Enochian sigils that held the Gate closed.

He was almost done when something grabbed him and dragged him backwards, his wings wrenching painfully. He slammed hard into the alabaster pillars, the stone cracking and crashing down on him, but the ancient hall stood firm, held up by much more than rock and mortar.

Coughing up blood, Gabriel got to his feet, flexing his wings as the redhaired demon circled around him.

“Abbadon,” He spat and she grinned.

“What’s a little archangel like you doing down here all by his little self?” She purred, and Gabriel reached back for his angel blade, silently cursing when he remembered he’d given it to Sam.

“He’s not alone.”

Gabriel blinked in surprise at the familiar voice, a voice he hadn’t heard in centuries, and turned his head as a light-haired youth stepped up behind him, smirking.

“Abbadon. I see you’re all wet for the vacant throne.”

She snarled at the newcomer, hands clenching into fists.

“Sorry to inform you,” the youth continued. “Not so vacant.”

“Malachi,” Gabriel breathed, and the youth winked at him.

“New and improved, well, old, actually.” He flexed his hands, grinning. “It’s good to be back in my own skin. Poorly tailored suit, but I’ll manage for now.”

“Crowley,” Abbadon snarled. “They said you were dead.”

“Greatly exaggerated, I assure you. I was only mostly dead. I now owe a Winchester my life. Not greatly thrilled about that.” Crowley purred. “I’ll settle for beating my frustrations out on you though.”

He spun his angel blade through his fingers, and smiled at Gabriel. “Just like old times, huh, Dad?”

\--

With the hellhounds, the demons were fairly easy to dispatch, especially with Bobby’s new Enochian exorcism bullets, but they just kept coming. It had to have something to do with the fact that they were sitting right on top of Hell’s front door, but Bobby knew they were running low on ammo and believe it or not, Growley’s pack of hellhounds were getting tired.

Suddenly, Sam tensed beside him. “There you are,” Bobby heard him whisper, and Sam dropped his rifle for a shotgun. Bobby stared at him in confusion as he brought the shotgun to his shoulder.

Sam couldn’t help the cold feel of glee as the rock salt pierced the demon’s skin, slowing him down, and he lunged in with Gabriel’s blade. The demon was faster, however, and struck him across the jaw, knocking him backwards. Sam cursed as the demon pinned him against the rock he’d fallen on with a hand on his throat, the other holding his wrist. He yelled when the demon snapped his wrist like it was nothing, Gabriel’s blade clattering to the shale.

“That almost seemed personal, Sam Winchester,” The demon smirked up at him and Sam grinned through the blood.

“It is personal, Siobhan.” he laughed. “You raped my stepson. I’m going to _skin you._ ”

“I’ve raped a lot of people,” Siobhan said with a smile. “Which one was yours?”

Sam reached up, wrapping his hand in Siobhan’s shirt. “ _Malachi.”_

Siobhan’s eyes went wide, and Sam snarled, slamming his head into Siobhan’s. The demon yelped and recoiled backwards, holding his head, but the rolling pain was nothing compared to what he’d endured with visions. Sam shoved the to the side and walked forward, grabbing Siobhan by the shirt once more and driving his fist down into his head. He felt the skin of his knuckles tear, Gabriel’s blade pinching his palm, but Sam felt all the hard rage at what this demon had done to Crowley, what so many demons had done to him, it boiled and seethed inside him.

Siobhan lunged against him, but Sam widened his stance and tightened his grip, bringing his clenched fist down once more, Gabriel’s blade scraping against Siobhan’s skin, adding weight to the blows. Siobhan howled, hands grappling at Sam’s steadfast hold.

Behind them, the entrance to the Gate began to glow once more, and Bobby turned, reaching down to lift Gabriel from the stone. Gabriel turned the moment he was out, reaching down to lift a blond youth out as well, both of them spotted with blood.

“In nomine Dei, obligo vobis!” Sam shouted, and Siobhan screamed as sigils appeared in the ground around him, paralyzing him. Sam’s hand rose from his shirt to his throat, holding tight.

“In Christi nomine, ego te iudicaturi.” Sam’s voice fell, becoming deadly quiet in the face of the still erupting volcano behind them.

Crowley stepped forward, his eyes wide as he realized just who Sam had on his knees, and Siobhan spotted him through bloodshot eyes.

“Mal!” he yelped. “Mal, help me!”

Crowley stopped, swallowing hard as he watched Sam raise his father’s blade, the erupting magma behind them making an eerie backdrop, and he shook his head.

“Do it, Sam.”

Siobhan’s eyes went wide, snapping back to Sam’s cold gaze.

“In nomine Spiritus sancti,” Sam’s voice was clipped, full of anger and hate both his own and not. “Ut sententia mortis.”

He drew himself up to his full height, arm stretched out high above his head, and in one smooth motion, he brought Gabriel’s blade down straight through the center of Siobhan’s forehead. Light flooded from the archangel blade, filling the sigils around Siobhan, and then it burst outward. It crackled through the dirt and ash of the volcano, catching demon after demon, and smiting them all in holy light.

Calm washed over them then, as calm as it could be with the volcano still pouring fire and brimstone into the sky.

“The way is shut,” Gabriel said softly. “The demons are back where they belong.”

“For now,” Crowley added, watching Sam as he wrenched the blade from Siobhan’s skull, letting his now limp body fall to the stone. “You killed him.”

“That’s what family is for.” Sam let out a shuddering breath, wiping blood from his lips.  “Nice new meatsuit.”

“You like?” Crowley gave a little spin, winking one now startlingly blue eye at his stepfather. “It’s mine, actually.”

He turned, winking at Bobby. “Every inch of it, all me.”

Crowley smiled then, his gaze softening as he took in the disbelief with which Bobby was looking at him. He closed the distance between them, reaching out for Bobby’s hand.

“Hello darling,” Crowley purred, and Bobby spluttered as every emotions ranging from surprise to relief to anger rolled through him.

“You...you stupid, selfish, son of a _bitch!”_

Crowley blinked in surprise, shifting back. “Not the welcome I was expecting.”

“You ass!” Bobby continued. “What the hell did you think you were doing?”

Gabriel shifted around them, tucking himself against Sam’s side. Sam leaned down, whispering against his ear.

“Don’t interfere.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Gabriel whispered back.

Crowley was glaring now. “I _think_ I saved all of your lives, that’s what I think.”

“Did you think about what it would do to me!?” Bobby yelled. “I’ve already lost one wife! _Twice_!”

“I resent the implication that I am the wife in this relationship!” Crowley roared back, but was cut off from further retort when Bobby grabbed him by the front of his new suit and hauled him forward, crashing their mouths together. Crowley sighed softly, relaxing against him.

“Well, that’s one way to resolve an argument,” Crowley murmured when Bobby pulled away.

“Apology accepted.” Bobby gruffed and Crowley laughed.

“Come on, let’s get the three of you home. Dean and Cas are quite worried.”

“What happened?”

* * *

 

_Several hours earlier..._

* * *

 

Dean had to carry Castiel into Bobby’s house, all of the moulting archangel’s strength gone in his fight to escape from Heaven. He’d started shaking during the drive back, and Dean swallowed his worry as he wrapped Castiel in blanket, laying him on the couch. Castiel immediately tore his way out of the blanket, shaking his head.

“Too hot,” he murmured, a sweat breaking out on his forehead.

“Okay,” Dean nodded, looking up at the wall of books Bobby had and thinking of the slew of ingredients downstairs. “What do you need me to do?”

“Nephilim summoning ritual.” Castiel breathed, thinking of the image of the sigils Dean would need and showing it to him through their shared thoughts.

Dean nodded, grabbing chalk from the drawer in Bobby’s desk and dropping to his knees in the middle of the room, drawing several large concentric circles and filling in the edges with the Enochian that Castiel showed him.

“Okay, that’s done.” Dean got to his feet, wiping chalk dust from his hands. “What else.”

“Amaranth oil, white sage, dust from the crypt of a fallen angel, an angel feather, blood of a Nephilim,” Castiel listed. “And Crowley’s ashes, at each of the four points of the circle.”

Dean nodded, throwing caution to the wind and zapping himself down to the cellar, grabbing the necessary ingredients that Bobby had, and then back upstairs.

“What about the crypt dust?” he asked as he carefully divided the oil and sage among the four points, then took the feathers Castiel offered him. “How do I get that?”

When he turned around from placing the feathers, Castiel was gone, and Dean cursed. He reappeared seconds later, collapsing into Dean’s arms, but pushing a jar of steel-gray dust into his hands.

“Ass,” Dean huffed, helping Castiel back to the couch. He pointed two fingers at Castiel when the angel fell back against the cushions. “Do not move.”

Castiel smiled, burrowing under the blanket Dean had brought out for him. “Not moving.”

Dean added a small pile of the crypt dust Castiel had brought to each of the four points, the gray standing out against the pale green of the sage, Castiel’s white feathers stark against the wood. He pulled a knife from his belt, slashing his arm, and letting his blood drip onto Castiel’s feathers before healing the wound.

“Amaranth, sage, dust, feathers, blood...ashes.”

Dean grabbed the urn Bobby had fashioned for Crowley and pried it open, taking a handful of ash for each point. He set the urn back on Bobby’s desk, dusting off his hands.

“What now?”

Dean glanced over to see Castiel’s eyes closed, and he half-ran to the angel’s side, checking to make sure he was still okay. Castiel’s Grace pulsed warmly beneath his hand, and as far as Dean could tell, Castiel had simply passed out from exhaustion. Dean tucked the blanket around him a little more firmly, sighing.

“Catch those z’s,” he whispered, kissing Castiel’s forehead. “I got this.”

He stood up, raising his wings as he surveyed what he hoped was the finished summoning ring. He didn’t know if there was an incantation, or if this was it, but he had to hope.

“Well,” Dean shrugged. “Here goes nothing.”

He stretched his hand out over the circles, and reached out with his Grace, guiding it with his words as Castiel had taught him.

“ _Prgel.”_ He commanded softly, and each of the four piles burst into flame.

There was a blinding flash of light that for whatever reason didn’t seem so bright to him, and when it faded, a strange man was standing in the circle, completely naked.

“Dude,” Dean complained, raising a hand and covering his eyes. “Why are you naked?”

“Why aren’t you?” The stranger said in Crowley’s British drawl and Dean couldn’t help but grin.

“It is you.”

“Who else would it be?” Crowley complained, stepping carefully out of the circle. “Oh, now, that’s old magic. Cas must’ve drawn that up for you.”

“He showed it to me. I drew it.”

“Ah, you’re quite a good tracer then.”

Dean rolled his eyes and threw a blanket at Crowley. He frowned at the monarch’s new youthful appearance, from his now blond hair and gray-blue eyes to the tanned muscle he sported.

“Man, you and Bobby just reached all new levels of creepy.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, tying the blanket around his waist. “Yes, the thousand-year old Nephilim dating the 60-year old hunter. My, how the girls will gossip. Where is the moose anyway? And Gabriel and my precious lover?”

“Someone popped open Hell’s front door,” Dean explained. “I got saddled with house-sitting due to these heavyweights on my back.”

Crowley frowned, stepping back and looking up at Dean’s wings as if he was just noticing for the first time.

“Well, guess I’m not the Last Nephilim after all.” he breathed, then stepped forward, reaching out to brush his fingers over Dean’s temple.

Dean half-fell forward as the weight of his wings disappeared, the massive appendages having vanished.

“What the hell did you do?”

“Relax, they’re still there. Just on a different plane. That was one of the first things I learned how to do, I’ll show you how later.” Crowley explained. “Just need to pick up the boys from daycare first.”

There was the sound of Crowley’s own wings extending and Dean cursed when the Nephilim vanished once again.

“What the hell was all that for then?” He exclaimed, gesturing towards the still smoking summoning circle. “Fucking demons...fucking Hellgate, fucking Nephilim...”

He continued to curse as he laid down on the couch next to Castiel, pulling the angel tight against his chest. “Fucking angels, fucking prophecy, fucking end of times...”

“Dean, I don’t believe I’m up for fucking right now,” Castiel murmured sleepily and Dean laughed.

“Course not,” he gave Castiel a gentle squeeze. “Go back to sleep.”

* * *

 

_Now_

* * *

 

Between Crowley and Gabriel, they got the humans home safely, though Gabriel’s Grace was strained by the effort of closing the Gate. Sam’s place at Gabriel’s side had been momentarily usurped by Crowley, the Nephilim assisting Gabriel into the nearest chair with an arm tight around his waist.

“Are you all right?” Crowley asked when Gabriel flinched. “If that bitch hurt you, I’ll chop her into little pieces.”

“Mal,” Gabriel laughed. “You already did.”

“Oh, right.” Crowley smirked. “Silly me.”

“You’re safe.”

They all turned to see Castiel in the door of the kitchen, flanked by Dean. Crowley squeaked in surprise when the naked angel crossed the room to hug him tightly.

“Hello Cas,” Crowley squeaked out. “Been a while since we exchanged bodily fluids, hm? I think Dean and Bobby might object to a foursome though.”

Castiel laughed, squeezing him once more before stepping back. “I feared all was lost when Dean told me of your demise.”

“Nice to know you care,” Crowley replied sarcastically. “What did you learn from Samael?”

Castiel’s face fell. “You knew?”

“I knew that bitch couldn’t have pulled you away from Dean while he was dying if you didn’t have a damn good reason.” Crowley said shortly. “Now out with it.”

Castiel looked from one expectant face to the next before sighing. “She means to open the Cage and release Michael. There will be no friendly Apocalypse, Michael is angry, and he means to place himself on the Throne of God. He will exterminate the human race. Samael is just a puppet. She’s going to come for Crowley, and soon.”

“Me?” Crowley interjected. “Why me?”

“Because you destroyed the Four Rings of the Horsemen.” Castiel said simply. “Because in doing so, you made yourself the Key to their Cage. Your blood will open the gate.”

“So I’m the new Lilith.” Crowley sighed. “Didn’t see that one coming.”

“We won’t let them get a hand on you.” Sam said firmly, now sitting next to Gabriel. “We’ll fight. Right, Cas?”

“Of course.” Castiel replied. “Samael is not an archangel, she’s just a figurehead. She gets her support from the fact that she’s relaying orders from Michael. If another archangel stands before the Host to counter her, we may be able to rally enough support to stop her, and perhaps then we can seek a more permanent way to eliminate Michael.”

“Like stabbing him in the fucking face?” Crowley snarled and Castiel smiled softly.

“Yes. Like that.”

* * *

 

It was decided less than a hour later that they should split up for the time being, as Samael was no doubt out looking for Castiel, and with Crowley being instrumental to their plans, it wouldn’t be good to have them both in the same location.

Sam took Bobby’s truck with Gabriel, heading south, and Dean and Castiel found a spare room waiting for them at Jody’s.

Bobby tried not to act surprised when he blinked and found himself on the balcony of a hotel room in Paris.

“Go ahead and say it,” Crowley said from behind him, and when Bobby turned, he found Crowley dressed in loose white shirt, barefoot beneath his slacks.

“Paris is a little cliched, isn’t it?” Bobby snarked and Crowley laughed, shaking his head. His bare feet were silent as he slipped out onto the balcony, sliding his arms to rest lightly over Bobby’s shoulders.

“Seriously, though,” Crowley asked. “You’re not put off by my new appearance?”

“Crowley, I started dating you when I thought you were a demon. After you bought my soul, refused to return it, and sent two of my boys to Purgatory. You think I’d be put off now that you’re apparently Draco Malfoy instead of Badger?”

“Now I see where Squirrel gets his references from.”

“Shut up.”

Crowley gave no protest when Bobby once again stopped the conversation by covering Crowley’s mouth with his own, nor did he protest when Bobby began unbuttoning his shirt.

“Oh, darling, this is cheap cotton. You can rip it if you like.”

Bobby growled before doing just that, buttons popping and scattering on the balcony. Crowley grinned up at him before Bobby grabbed him by the waist, spinning and pinning him against the railing. Crowley bit back a moan at the scrape of Bobby’s beard against his new skin, instead knocking the old ball cap from his lover’s head so he could tangle his fingers in his hair. Bobby laid his hands on the back of Crowley’s thighs and Crowley jumped, wrapping his legs tightly around Bobby’s waist with practiced precision.

The bed was soft when they fell on it, easily the size of Bobby’s entire bedroom, and Crowley grabbed the collar of Bobby’s shirt, dragging him up to his lips. For once he was glad the suit wasn’t perfectly tailored to his body, for it allowed Bobby to shimmy the slacks off his hips without even unbuttoning them. He never wore anything underneath, and with his shirt in pieces, he lay stretched out naked on the bed before his hunter.

Crowley automatically reached for the light, but Bobby caught his hand.

“Not tonight.”

Crowley frowned, turning back to Bobby in confusion. Bobby always wanted the lights out, never quite wanted to see Crowley. He’d revealed once because he knew that the skin he was seeing wasn’t Crowley, wasn’t his own, and didn’t want to think about the poor soul Crowley was possessing, even though Crowley had told him many times that the soul had moved on, his meatsuit was quite empty, thank you very much.

“It wasn’t you before.” Bobby explained. “This is you, and I want to see you.”

Crowley pulled his hand back from the desk light, his gaze flicking up to the century-old chandelier and it turned on as well, flooding the room with light.

“Well, here I am,” Crowley murmured, mentally cursing as his voice wavered, but Bobby saw the tears he was blinking back anyway and leaned forward, covering him with his body as they kissed, and Crowley trembled, wrapping his arms and legs tightly around him.

“I love you, Robert Singer,” Crowley whispered fiercely.

“I love you,” Bobby returned against the shell of his ear. “Malachi, son of Gabriel.”

Crowley gave a soft cry when Bobby dragged a rough, calloused hand down his chest, his hips bucking in anticipation. He slid his hands under Bobby’s shirt, the hunter working with him to get it over his head. Bobby’s jeans, socks, and boots followed in quick succession, though Crowley retained Bobby’s belt for future purposes.

Crowley pushed his hips up with their bare erections slid together, gripping Bobby’s hips with his thighs for leverage. Bobby was quick to reach between them, wrapping his hand around them both as he covered Crowley’s throat in the claiming marks that Crowley so rarely allowed.

“Bobby...inside. Now.” Crowley demanded between pants and Bobby pulled away, taking the lube that Crowley shoved into his hand. “Just lube it and get inside me. Don’t fuss, you know you can’t hurt me, no matter how big that monster of yours is.”

Bobby grunted in reply, doing as Crowley insisted, but tucked a pillow under Crowley’s hips despite his protest. When he neared again, Crowley wrapped his legs eagerly around his waist, letting Bobby spread his thighs wide with a touch, both hands fisted in the pillow behind his head. He slammed his head back, groaning loudly when Bobby first began to press in, then loudly demanding more.

He didn’t know how to say, but it was so much more in this moment than it had ever been before. Bobby had always been the attentive lover, but Crowley found himself on the brink of orgasm in just moments, his body already shuddering at just how pronounced every touch was. The barrier between them had been obliterated, and for the first time in centuries, Crowley truly _felt._

As if he knew, Bobby changed his tactics easily, a slow roll of his hips giving them both the sense of pleasure without the necessary friction, turning a desperate, needy fuck into a slow, rolling build and by the end, Crowley was sobbing unabashedly, clinging to Bobby’s shoulders. His voice echoed in a trembling litany of Bobby’s name coupled with desperate pleas to a God he didn’t believe in.

He keened when his orgasm finally crashed over him, and felt Bobby’s arms tighten around him, holding him firmly against him as he shook.

“I’ve got you,” Bobby breathed in his ear. “I’ve got you.”

\--

Simon was asleep when Dean and Castiel arrived, and Jody quietly showed them to the room she’d set up for them. Dean had managed to get Castiel into a pair of pajama pants and an old t-shirt before they’d headed over. Sam called them about twenty minutes after they arrived to let them know that he and Gabriel were in a motel across the state line.

Now Dean and Castiel both lay awake in the borrowed bed, Simon’s stuffed bee nestled between them. The bond buzzed with white noise, their thoughts static as they relaxed in each other’s arms. Dean felt his wings involuntarily reaching out for Castiel’s, running along the inside feathers, and Castiel purred under the attention.

“We’re going to make it,” Castiel suddenly whispered. “I think...I know we’re going to make it.”

“Sir.”

Dean sat up at the sudden, new voice, Castiel following much more slowly. Dean frowned at the smiling angel, its wings raised in pride.

“I know you, don’t I?” Dean asked and the angel nodded.

“Inais, reporting, sir.”

Castiel gave a weak laugh, standing and crossing to wrap his arms tightly around his brother.

“I was afraid no one would come. I am so glad you are here, brother.”

Inais returned his embrace warmly before pulling away.

“I am not alone.”

Castiel's brow furrowed, and he took Dean's hand as Inais led them outside. Standing on the front porch of Jody's house, Dean in a sharp breath and felt relief and love wash over from Castiel's side of the bond. Across Jody's yard, in the road, across the street, as far as they could see and father, hundreds of angels stood watching them. 

Inais stepped down from the porch, joining his brothers and sisters, and then he turned, facing Castiel once more. 

"Awaiting your orders, sir." 

"His Will be done." Castiel breathed, almost tentatively, and the angels around them echoed his words. 

"His Will be done."

 


	9. Highway to Hell

\--

God created archangels on a Thursday.

Archangels are fierce. They are absolute. They are Heaven’s most terrifying weapon.

Those words were written into the rhetoric of every angel’s core belief. There was God, their Father and Creator, and the archangels were His closest children, the only ones who knew His face.

Michael.

Lucifer.

Raphael.

Gabriel.

They knew God’s face, and they were to be feared as He was.

There was no falling off the sun, no rising of the moon to mark the day, there was only eternal light, because the creatures that lived in this perfect world had no need of rest. They were never weary, instead only joyful, and eager to please their Father. Creatures of light and fire, they spoke not in words or tangible offerings of comfort, but with gleam and glow, spark and flame. An embrace could be more easily likened to two sentient stars colliding, rather than the simple enclosure of another in their arms (But for the sake of continuity and understanding, we’ll stick with the latter, shall we?).

Michael leaned back against his mate’s side, their bond spread wide and open, love and joy passing both ways as their wings tangled together. Lucifer slid an arm around him, and threaded their fingers together. Around them, above and below, angels played in the light, basking in the glory of the universe their Father had created. The idea of affirming with words what they already knew was not something that had occurred to them. Whispered ‘I love you’s and fragile gifts were a thing of a species not yet born.

“Father’s working on something new,” Lucifer mused, and Michael nodded, closing his eyes as he laid his head against Lucifer’s shoulder.

“He’s happy,” Michael whispered, sighing softly in his contentment. “Let Him be. You know how much Father loves to create.”

Lucifer turned and caught Michael’s lips with her own, their Grace humming in sync. They were the epitome of everything bond-mates could be, the link between them so completely free that they were less two spirits than one. Michael did not feel complete without Lucifer by his side, and they loved each other when the concept of love had not yet been imagined.

\--

“They’re disgusting,” Lucifer snapped, staring at the wiggling new ‘life’ that their Father had created. Michael could feel her agitation, her frustration, her anger, her wings pulsing violently, and he laid a hand over the straining limbs, stroking her feathers in an attempt to calm her.

“Perhaps our Father’s vision is beyond ours,” Michael said softly.

“He wants us to protect them,” Lucifer snarled, but her voice was quieter and Michael felt hurt beginning to seep across their bond.

_Why aren’t we enough? Did we do something wrong? Did I do something wrong?_

“Shhh,” Michael soothed, wrapping his arms around Lucifer’s waist. “Shh, mate of mine, it’s nothing we have done wrong. Father must always create, it is His joy and His burden.”

Lucifer softened under his touch, leaning back against him. “You’re right, as always,” she laughed, curling her wings under Michael’s. “I still don’t like them.”

“They are...odd.” Michael agreed, stretching his wings to fold around his mate.

“Mud-monkeys,” Lucifer whispered before they both dissolved into fits of laughter.

\--

“You want us to what?”

Lucifer’s tone trembled with sarcasm and disdain, but Michael could feel the hurt and disbelief coursing through her. He tried to reach out to Lucifer, to thread some calm into the chaos, to ground her, but she was too far gone.

“They’re humans.” Their Father said, a gleeful smile on His lips. “Aren’t they beautiful? I see where I went wrong with angels, they’re too perfect. Too solidified. Knock a few rungs off the ladder and they fall to pieces. Humans, they’re adaptable. They’re perfect because they’re flawed.”

“...what’s a _ladder!?_ ” Lucifer snarled, tossing her hands up. “How is something that is born broken greater than what we have here? We have everything. We are your greatest creations; we are your children, Father!”

God turned away from his gaping children, frowning. How could he explain to creatures who had only ever known peace, beauty, and good-will? That good was nothing without evil? That a Balance must be maintained, always. Death had taught him that. 

Michael stepped forward, placing a hand on Lucifer’s shoulder, but Lucifer chased him away.

“They have choice, Father, free will you call it? What if they choose wrong? Who’s going to clean up their messes when they tear the world you made for them apart?”

“You will.” God answered as if it were obvious. “I will task the Host to watch over this world and these people.”

Lucifer blanched, blinking and stepping back, horror and anger cascading through their bond.

“How...how do you task us with something so trivial?” he hissed. “You set them up to fail, and then expect us to...”

“Lucifer.” God’s voice was stern, and they all stood up a little straighter as it echoed through them, their Creator, their Father. “You will bow down and you will worship them. You will love them as you love me. You will guide them and protect them, and then you will see the beauty they can create.”

It was written in them to obey. It was their purpose, to love and obey their Father. It was their very reason for existence.

“No.”

Lucifer’s eyes were filled with tears, but her wings and her Grace were stiff, anguished but firm.

“Father, I can’t. I won’t.”

Her wings flared once as Lucifer turned away from them all, covering her face with a hand as she swept out of the Garden. Michael watched his mate flee, reaching out to her through the bond even as he turned back to their Father. Something shifted in his world, something finite and dependable and immovable shifted as God, I Am That Which I Am, looked simply confused at his daughter’s reaction.

“Father,” Michael bowed his head quickly, before racing after Lucifer.

He caught her on the edge of their Garden, not bothering to try and slow her down as Lucifer all but fled to their shared home.

“Don’t try to change my mind, Michael.” Lucifer’s voice was trembling with the weight of what she’d just done, and she reached out to her mate through their bond, asking for strength, and Michael was all too willing to give it. “Someone has to stand up to Him. Someone has to say no. This is ridiculous. He’s threatening our entire world, everyone will suffer because of His choices today.”

“Think of what you’re doing.” Michael whispered when they reached their own home, a quiet grove of silver trees. A spring of the first waters flowed through to an azure pool, and Lucifer fell to her knees among the reeds, Michael quick to join her. “Think of the consequences. This will change everything.”

“Father has already changed everything.” Lucifer muttered bitterly.

“Yes,” Michael whispered, wrapping himself around his mate. “But they will blame you.”

\--

The war had started before any of them knew it. It started when Lucifer not only refused to bow before God’s new creations, but when she began to explain to others why they shouldn’t, why doing so was a waste of their powers, and that blind obedience...the very thing that had driven their existence for millennia...was something to move past. If these--things--were allowed to have free will, why couldn’t they? Why couldn’t they choose?

Perhaps Lucifer had thought she’d have more followers in her rebellion, but Michael knew she’d never even thought of it as such. She wasn’t rebelling, not precisely. She still loved their Father, and she could find a place in her heart for these weird new things called humans, but she was tired of being told what to do, being told what was best.

She had done nothing wrong. She was simply the first, and so the first to fall.

“You want me to...what?”

Michael stared at his Father, bile twisting in his throat, his stomach turning violently. He’d never balked at an order, never, but never had one filled him with such abject horror. God’s eyes were soft, His touch gentle, but it took every fiber of his being not to jerk away.

“You can’t...” Michael whispered. “You can’t make me do this.”

“Michael...”

“SHE’S YOUR DAUGHTER!” Michael shouted, his voice breaking, eyes full of unshed tears. “She’s my mate...”

“It has to be you.”

So the chess pieces moved as they always had, blind to their own path, moved by a hand that neither cherished their victories nor mourned their losses.

Michael sat in their grove, watching the waters flow between the trees. Even though he knew the stream was flowing, the waters were still. They’d always been still, he’d just never noticed. Everything around them was still, frozen, because time didn’t quite move in Heaven. Or perhaps they just didn’t perceive it.

He let his fingers brush out over the pool, never quite breaching the surface, though he grew closer with each pass. His wings grew tense the closer he got, and he flinched when his fingers at last came away wet. Opening his eyes, Michael watched as ripples spread out from where he’d broken the surface, the still waters moving for the first time.

Michael sat back, lifting his head and folding his wings around himself, folding up like a fledgling and hiding his face in the resulting hollow of his arms. He reached out to his mate through their bond. It had been open so long, and was so full of them that Michael could hardly feel the edges. It took him time to actively seek out where he ended and Lucifer began, the finite line that would end and begin it all.

As he sought, he felt Lucifer reach back to him, familiar and true. They had never once reached and not found the other, though Lucifer flinched when she found the state of anguish in which her brother trembled.

_Michael?_

Michael caught the edges of the bond, pulling them to him.

_Michael, what’s wrong? Talk to me, I’m here._

No hesitation in her words, no worry, no fear. These things didn’t exist yet, not in name, but they soiled Michael’s heart.

 _I’m so sorry._ Michael whispered, and gave a shattered cry when Lucifer pressed through their bond, wrapping her energy around Michael, offering wordless warmth and comfort, and Michael had no idea how he was going to survive without this.

 _I love you._ Michael pushed the words at Lucifer, their first utterance in all of time, and Lucifer fell back, surprised by the sudden and entirely unnecessary confession. She then smiled, teasing, trying to put a smile back on Michael’s face.

_Of course you do. I’m so lovable._

Michael gave a silent, sorrowful laugh. _Say it, Lucifer. Say it please._

_I love you._

Michael sighed wearily, a soft smile playing on his lips, and his last glimpse of his mate’s Grace was that of it full of love and peace.

\--

Something had pinched inside of Michael the day that he closed the bond between him and Lucifer. It was a constant strain on his Grace, keeping the bond closed, but a necessary instrument in God’s war against Lucifer and her followers. After all, how could one strategize against an enemy when said enemy could see one’s mind?

The day he wrestled Lucifer into the Cage, sealed it behind himself with the blood of Lilith and passed the Keys into the hands of the Four Horsemen, Michael felt the bond close in a way in which he hadn’t been able on his own. The magic surrounding the Cage cut Lucifer off from him completely, as if she had never existed, and Michael shuddered as he turned away. That which had pinched inside him so long ago turned from an annoyance into absolute agony, and with his first step away from the Cage, it twisted violently.

With every step that he took, it twisted inside him. It twisted, and twisted, and twisted, as seconds turned to minutes, minutes to hours, and hours to weeks. He was staring at his Father's words, words that used to fill him with pride and wonder, but now he only felt cold, cold in a world of fire and light. When Gabriel brought Hadrian and Aniel’s fledgling into the Garden, that which had twisted inside him for so long he'd forgotten what it felt like not to be coiled so tightly, that which had robbed him of all his warmth, it twisted one last time and something within Michael snapped.

As the other archangels moved to welcome their new brother, the tiny little fledgling that regarded them all so knowingly even in his youth, Michael felt anger that they forgot their fallen brother so quickly. He moved forward, as they all did, to see the fledgling in Gabriel’s arms. Gabriel’s Grace glowed in a way it had not since Lucifer’s rebellion, his wings curling forward, warning the others away, but Michael had no such trepidation. He reached out, laying a hand over the center of the tiny star, feeling its fire and warmth, but it did not reach his Grace.

“His name is Castiel.” Gabriel supplied softly.

 _Castiel._ Michael kept his face calm and smooth, not a single flicker to betray how he felt. _Are you the one to replace my love? How will you do such a thing? So small, so fragile, and yet she was mighty. You are not the one to replace Lucifer._

Though his only crime was being born, Michael hated him.

This new emotion was raw, visceral, and agonizing, but yet it lifted him up and gave him strength. He hated them all, hated them with all that he had, and one he hated more than all others. It was all he could do to contain it, but patience was something with which he was incredibly familiar.

Father seemed to sense the growing tension between them, the war behind the veil that threatened with every passing hour, and Michael was never more frustrated than when God took His leave, abandoning His Host for another world. Without an outlet, his anger and hatred shredded more and more of him until he was lost.

If he could not bring God down, then he would destroy humanity for all it had taken from him.

Then, a thought occurred to him. Perhaps he _could_ bring God down. To defeat that which was all-mighty, he would have to become such himself. The absolute power of the archangels was just that: absolute. Finite. It had been divided after Lucifer had been cast out, and if he could eliminate his traitorous brothers, he would become stronger. If he could eliminate them all, maybe, just maybe, he would be strong enough.

_Then all can be as it was._

For the first time in a long time, Michael felt at peace again.

_When the first falls, He Who Is will be broken._

\--

They were done.

The battle was over and everyone knew it.

He could see it in Crowley's face, the Nephilim gearing himself up to turn himself over to Samael, a stupid but desperate sacrifice to save his family.

He could see Dean trying to figure out how to get Castiel to flee so Simon wouldn't become an orphan once again.

He saw Castiel press a hard kiss to Dean's lips, and heard the whisper above the roar.

_"I don't want to go."_

_\--_

Sam sat up, rubbing his eyes, but the stark clarity of the dream remained. It was dark outside, hours before dawn, and like clockwork, Gabriel rose beside him, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Sammy?" The archangel asked sleepily, and Sam sighed, slipping out from under his hand and crossing the room to pull a bottle of water from the minifridge.

Gabriel reached over, flicking the bedside lamp on, then he too slid out of bed. He stood behind Sam as he collapsed in the nearest chair, holding his head.

"Same dream?" Gabriel asked as he rubbed Sam's shoulders and Sam nodded, leaning back into his touch.

"Something's going to happen to Cas, and I don't know how to stop it." Sam said softly, and Gabriel leaned forward, wrapping his arms tightly around Sam’s shoulders.

“You don’t have to bear that burden, Sam,” Gabriel whispered against his ear and Sam stood sharply, pulling away from him.

“Why won’t anyone trust me? I can help!”

“Maybe because you’ve borne enough,” Gabriel continued softly. “You don’t have a penance to pay, Sam. You’ve done enough.”

Sam all but fell into Gabriel’s arms, the archangel supporting his mate easily, and Gabriel wrapped his arms tightly around him as Sam shook, sobs breaking forth from his chest.

“I can’t...I can’t just sit by, Gabriel,” Sam whispered. “He’s my brother and my best friend...and I know what’ll happen to Dean if he loses Cas again.

Gabriel gave him a gentle squeeze, brushing his hands through Sam’s hair. “Don’t worry, kiddo. We won’t let anything happen to Cas. I promise.”

\--

Castiel lay awake, listening to the ash and pumice falling on the roof of Jody’s house. He couldn’t sleep, though Dean had all but passed out the moment they had a second to breathe. He stayed resolutely at Dean’s side, knowing Dean couldn’t sleep without him there, but there was so much on his mind he couldn’t even begin to calm it.

He closed his eyes and saw the faces of the angels he’d killed, his friends, his family. How many of them were mates of angels that fought by his side now? How many families had he destroyed? Had Michael succeeded in breaking him with their near-brush with the Apocalypse? Had it all been orchestrated to shatter all that was left of him after he pulled Dean from Hell? Was all that blood on his hands?

_“He chose you, Castiel. To lead us.”_

Castiel closed his eyes, a single tear falling from his lashes onto the pillow. Unconsciously, Dean tightened his grip on Castiel’s waist, tugging him back against his chest.

“I don’t want to go,” He whispered, trembling as sobs threatened to well up through his body, gritting his teeth to hold it all down. He turned in Dean’s arms, tucking himself under Dean’s chin, and he let out a shuddering sigh when Dean’s new wings folded around him. He tucked his shorn ones under the warmth of Dean’s feathers, Dean’s arms tight around him.

“I got you,” Dean mumbled sleepily. “S’okay,”

Castiel brushed a kiss over Dean’s heart, his lips catching on the smooth cotton of Dean’s shirt, and he closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep.

It would be the last time he slept for some time.

\--

Samael bent over the brass bowl on the plain table, the churning red liquid inside catching every sound, every whisper.

Ze slid zis own blade over zis wrist, the drops of blood hissing when they fell into the bowl.

_“Pizin cnila caosgon. Cnoqvol, adrpan coraxo.”_

\--

_“...the ash cloud from the Yellowstone eruption has now spread to cover Wyoming and parts of Colorodo, Idaho, Nebraska, and South Dakota. We have estimates of over 15 centimeters of ash in southern parts of Wyoming, and multiple reports of buildings collapsing closer to the volcano itself.”_

Jody fought the urge to change the channel, to ignore what was happening, but that couldn’t be done when she had five angels and a Nephilim in her house, all of which had turned her kitchen into a war room.

“Have we got the Skype link to Sam and Bobby up yet?” Dean asked, slipping through the angels to place a pin on the map they’d posted on the wall.

“Almost,” Inais announced, typing steadily at the laptop.

Jody was dressed in her sheriff’s gear, and she’d been steadily answering calls all morning about the volcano and what they needed to do to prepare. She had all her men out at the stores, trying to prevent looting, but what could they do?

The blond angel with the soft smile and dark navy suit pressed a cup of coffee into her hand.

“Do not worry, Jody Mills.” He said quietly and she offered him a gentle smile.

“Sorry, kid, worrying is what I do.”

His eyes were briefly sad, then he slipped past her to lift Simon from his chair, the almost three-year-old smiling up at the angel, and as Castiel moved past the two, he placed a quick kiss on Simon’s head.

“Thank you for watching him, Zadkiel.” Castiel said, touching Zadkiel’s shoulder and the angel nodded.

“Of course. It is my pleasure.”

Zadkiel carried Simon from the room, and Jody watched them over his shoulder as Zadkiel set Simon on the living room floor, sitting down with him and beginning a conversation in whatever language the angels spoke that Simon understood. Jody personally didn’t understand a bit of it, but whatever worked.

_“Hello boys,”_

Dean glanced at the laptop to see Crowley smirking at them, his usual coat and tie exchanged for a fluffy white robe.

“Hey,” He quickly responded, taking the seat from the angel Castiel called Ireul. “Where’s Bobby?”

 _“Getting pampered as only royalty can afford,”_ Crowley shrugged, leaning back in his seat, his hands curled around a silver teacup. “ _Where’s Moose?”_

Just as he finished asking, Dean watched as Gabriel and Sam popped up on his screen.

“Hey guys,” He greeted them, then stood, turning the laptop to face the room and Castiel sat down next to him.

“ _Hey,”_ Sam echoed Gabriel, and Dean rolled his eyes as Gabriel manhandled his way into Sam’s lap.

“ _So, lil bro, what’s the game plan?”_

Castiel sighed softly, leaning into Dean’s comforting touch. “Well, we have to stop Samael, obviously. She can’t be allowed to open the Cage and release Michael and Lucifer, but the force of angels that has joined our side is not enough to lessen her threat.”

 _“Well,”_ Crowley interrupted. “ _If I can regain my throne in Hell, I can throw a good weight of demons behind you.”_

“And we can probably call in the hunter community.” Dean offered, squeezing Castiel’s hand. “No one wants to see those two topside again.”

Castiel looked up at the angels watching, and one nodded to him.

“We have made our decision.”

Castiel smiled softly, his eyes bright with unspoken affection. “Demons, hunters, and angels all working together.”

 _“What has this world come to?”_ Crowley purred, winking at Castiel when he looked back to the computer screen.

“ _Mal, if you’re taking back Hell, I’m coming with you,_ ” Gabriel added quickly, Sam quickly throwing his ax in with them.

"Crowley, if you could have Bobby call...everyone." Castiel ordered. "Everyone he knows, everyone who is willing to come. I will have Inais scout for a location where we can make our stand. We need to bring them to us."

"’Make our stand’? Saying we manage to build this army, what are you planning, Cas?" Crowley asked and Castiel seemed to shrink.

“I will need a place where I can make my case against Samael. We will likely have to fight before I get the chance, so we will need a defendable location.”

“You’re going to stand up in front of everyone and just hope they all decide to follow you?”

“I’m an archangel.” Castiel said softly. “I have much greater authority than Samael. The Host will likely not see it as a choice.”

"We have a plan then." Crowley huffed, and behind Dean and Castiel, Jody cleared her throat.

"What about the volcano?"

Everyone looked at her blankly and she shook her head, smiling at their obliviousness. "The giant supervolcano that's killing hundreds of people by the hour right outside our door? I realize you guys have got cosmic huge problems, but come on...can't you like snap your fingers and avert a natural disaster?"

Castiel frowned, looking away. "If the Yellowstone supervolcano wasn't sitting directly on the Gates of Hell, it would be that easy. As it is, to stop the eruption, we would have to rewrite miles of Enochian spell work and run the risk of trapping Crowley and the others inside."

“ _You don’t have to worry about that, love,”_ Crowley noted. “ _I know of enough side entrances and back doors that getting out again will be a snap. You do what you must to shut that Hellhole down.”_

Castiel nodded. “Then to each their mission.”

There was a quick exchange where Crowley gave Sam and Gabriel his location before they signed off, and Dean closed the laptop.

“So...”

“I’ll take a garrison to the caldera.” Castiel’s orders were quiet, but clear. “You and the remainder of the angels will go to the people and save as many as you can. Take them to safety.”

Castiel stepped closer to Dean as he stood, a hand resting on Dean’s wrist. “The ash and heat should not harm you, not with the Grace you now possess, but Maharet will stay with you.”

“Maharet?” Dean let his gaze travel from Castiel’s gentle hand on his shoulder to the angel who’d come forward from the others. Half a lifetime ago, she’d have been just his type, but now Dean only felt apprehension as he stood to meet her. Castiel placed a hand on her elbow, and the two exchanged a brief glance that made Dean question the reassurance Castiel offered him.

“She will be your captain.” Castiel explained simply.

“Wait, captain? How does that work?” Dean took a step back, his wings fluttering apprehensively. “Cas, I’m not taking orders from...”

“Not taking orders,” Maharet interrupted what was sure to be a stubborn tirade. “Giving them. As Castiel’s mate, you have a recognized title among the Host. Equivalent, perhaps, to the level of a lieutenant general in the American Army.”

“Right,” Dean couldn’t help the quick upturn of his lips, even as he tried to school his face into solemnity. He couldn’t look at Maharet without cracking a grin, so he looked quickly to Castiel, catching the way the angel’s eyes softened upon him. “So I’m in charge?”

“When I’m not around.” Castiel murmured, leaning up to give him a quick kiss. “Now I need to go speak with Ireul. Why don’t you and Maharet get a plan going?”

Castiel slid past him, and Dean felt his face would crack from his grin. Castiel’s wings were starting to fill out once again, and he looked good for a guy who’d just been tortured for weeks. Behind him, Maharet cleared her throat, but her lips twitched when he looked back at her, belying a hidden smile.

“So, uh, you guys can tell? That we’re mates?” Dean shifted his weight, not quite meeting the angel’s eyes, and her smile broke through as she stepped past him to pick up the map the other angels had left behind when they left.

“Any angel looking at you would see how your Grace is bonded, but any fool can see the way you two look at each other. Now, we can do a wide sweep of this area, but I believe we can do the most good if we move into these cities.”

Dean ran a hand over his face, trying to quell the burst of joy that Maharet’s words had inspired. Castiel was his and everyone knew it. Maybe Cas didn’t believe that he was going to make it through this, but he did, oh, he believed. He had faith enough for both of them.

Castiel fought the urge to sigh as he stood with Ireul behind closed doors, stripped bare to the waist, briefly fascinated by the contrast of her vessel’s dark skin against the paleness of Castiel’s own. The light tan Jimmy once possessed had faded with the passing years, and Ireul’s hands were firm against his chest, pressing, her Grace coiling effortlessly against his own, seeking.

“There appears to be no lasting damage.” Ireul finally announced, but her Grace did not withdraw. “Samael was vicious.”

“Just tell me...” Castiel breathed. “Tell me...”

He couldn’t say it, couldn’t voice what he had risked, and Ireul’s Grace was pressing against his, asking permission, and Castiel set his jaw, forcing himself to relax.

It took every fiber of his control to keep from screaming, and he immediately felt Dean pick up on his distress. Ireul was quick, her Grace flickering in and out of his, but, for a second, the world was spinning far too hard. Ireul’s hands were firm against his shoulders, and then familiar warmth spread over him. He leaned into it, sighing contently before he realized why this Grace was familiar and that Dean’s wings were spread aggressively as his arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders.

“What the hell were you doing?!” he was shouting, glaring at Ireul.

“Dean,” Castiel said quickly, trying to straighten up. “Dean, it’s okay. Ireul is a Healer.”

“She hurt you.” Dean hissed, his arms tightening around him even as his wings began to soften, falling from their protective flare.

“An accident,” Castiel explained calmly, drawing his own wings around Dean’s, his feathers fluttering softly to soothe his angry mate’s. “She was checking to make sure I am healing well following my conversation with Samael.”

Even with that, it was still another several tense moments before Dean let his arms go slack, though they still stayed locked around Castiel’s waist. Castiel shook his head softly, turning in Dean’s arms, his eyes a silent apology to Ireul.

“I will return,” Ireul said quietly, ducking her head and stepping out.

The moment she was gone, Dean spun and cupped Castiel’s face in his hands, searching him with eyes and touches even as his wings curled around his mate, his Grace instinctively reaching out and curling against Castiel’s. Castiel purred under the attention, leaning into his touch and covering Dean’s hands with his own.

“I’m fine,” Castiel said softly.

“She hurt you.” Dean repeated, and Castiel leaned forward, brushing a kiss over his lips.

“It hurts to set a broken bone, does it not? Some of Samael’s methods could’ve caused lasting damage. Ireul needed to see inside my Grace to make certain that hadn’t happened. I’m sorry, I should’ve warned you.”

“Don’t you apologize.” Dean said hurriedly, pulling Castiel into his arms once again and holding him tightly, his brow furrowing briefly as he squeezed Castiel with all his might. “But yeah, warn me next time when random angels are going to be shoving their Grace in yours.”

Castiel curled naturally into his arms, Dean smiling at the familiar feel of Castiel’s hair tickling his neck as Castiel tucked his head under his chin. He pushed their bond as wide as he could make it, though it still shuddered at the strain, letting love wash over Castiel, unable to stop a warm shiver when Castiel returned the favor. Castiel’s Grace felt odd, different somehow, but Dean chalked it up to the fact that Castiel was still moulting, not to mention having just come off being tortured by an angel psycho.

Reluctantly Dean pulled away, placing a kiss to Castiel’s forehead, not missing how Castiel seemed to curl in on himself when the warmth of his mate was gone.

“I’ll let you finish up and then we’ll coordinate Yellowstone, kay...mate of mine?”

Dean’s eyes sparkled and Castiel laughed easily, bouncing forward and back into his arms, pulling him down for a kiss.

“All mine.” Castiel whispered against his lips, and they parted once again.

Dean stepped out of the guest bedroom, finding Ireul waiting just outside, and he felt his wings instinctively flare. It took him a minute but he managed to pull them back down, giving her a curt nod in passing. These crazy wing things were getting a bit easier to manage, thanks in no small part to Crowley, the asshat.

Castiel followed him, his arms wrapped around himself, rubbing his hands lightly over his own upper arms, a slight shiver in his movements. As Dean disappeared into the kitchen once more, Castiel turned, fixing Ireul with a pointed look and she folded her hands behind her back, falling into a militaristic stance with practiced ease.

"The fledgling..." Castiel whispered and Ireul nodded shortly.

"The fledgling is well, sir. Your Grace sealed around it before Samael injected you with demon blood."

Castiel's shoulders dropped, his hands falling limp to his sides as he said a silent prayer of gratitude to their absent father. Ireul's gaze flicked to the kitchen, where Maharet was discussing plan of action with Dean and another angel.

"Are you going to tell him?"

Castiel followed her gaze, his own softening with a strange wistfulness as he saw his mate, Dean grinning and winking at him when he caught their stare.

"No." Castiel replied reluctantly. "He has enough to worry about."

"Would you take my advice if I suggested rest?"

A slight smile played at Castiel’s lips."No, but you may suggest it."

Ireul sighed but laid a hand on Castiel's shoulder, her Grace once again flowing over his and healing what it could.

"Be careful, Castiel. I don't want to lose another captain...another brother."

Castiel covered her hand with his own, squeezing lightly. The two angels rejoined the others in the kitchen, though they only represented a few of those who’d sworn loyalty to Castiel.

“Well, Maharet and I were figuring we’d start at the edges and work our way in, since you are taking your boys to the center.” Dean got Castiel up to speed even as he wrapped an arm around his mate’s waist. “Inais said he is taking Ion and Altron in a divisive maneuver, since Samael might be expecting you to try and shut down Yellowstone.”

Castiel nodded slowly, straightening. “Someone will need to go with Crowley as well. Samael needs him more than she needs me.”

“Perhaps the smaller force is better.” Another angel stepped forward. “Samael will not want to lay siege to Hell in its current chaos. Once he and his are within the Gates, she won’t pursue him, not with our garrison guarding the entrance.”

“Then we’ll rewrite the seals and appease the mountain.” Castiel finished softly.

“All right. Let’s go then.” Dean said eagerly, the angels immediately vanished. Castiel, however, turned in Dean’s arms, cupping his face in his hands.

“Be careful, please. Samael is on the hunt, and she’ll use any means she can to bring myself and Crowley under her command.”

Dean closed the gap between them, pressing their lips together in what he swore did not feel like a goodbye kiss, but reminiscent of a promise to return to one another.

“You just stop the mountain. We’ll get the people to safety.”

Dean pulled away, glancing to where Zadkiel remained with Simon, and then turned to Jody. He leaned past her, picking up his Dad’s journal from where he’d set it next to the computer.

“Here. Every hunter we know is in here. Call as many as you can, tell them whatever you need to tell them to get them here as soon as possible.”

Jody smiled. “I’m on it, Captain Winchester.”

\--

Bobby settled deeper into the plush chair, the bathrobe like fluffy silk on his skin, and tried not to think too much about the fact that his face was covered in something sweet-smelling and soft, a gel mask covering his eyes, and he had one person at each hand and foot, massaging cream into his skin while they spoke in rapid French. If he closed his eyes, and didn’t breathe too deep, he could pretend he was back in South Dakota, and not in the middle of an extensively and luxuriously decorated Parisian honeymoon suite.

“Hello love,” Crowley purred against his ear before pressing a light kiss to his lips. “Enjoying yourself?”

Bobby grunted in response, feeling the chair sink with the monarch’s added weight.

“Cette creme se ramollit les cheveux, je suis sur que votre amant apprecieront.” The woman to his right spoke quickly, and Crowley chuckled.

“Oui, il sera tres certainement.” He replied, pressing another kiss to Bobby’s lips.

“I hate you.” Bobby growled and Crowley laughed. “No, you’d hate me if I didn’t tell you Sam and Gabriel will be here soon.”

Bobby was on his feet in an instant, waving away the women, and Crowley laughed, setting down his tea to tip them all. As they slipped out, Crowley grabbed Bobby by his robe and pulled him close.

“Relax, they won’t be here for another hour. We have time to finish painting your toes.”

Less than fifteen minutes later, Bobby glared down at his newly-painted red toenails as he pulled on his boots, and snatched his cap from the bedpost to finish dressing. Crowley was dressed in a newly tailored suit, black slacks with white shirt and black and silver waistcoat, though the matching black jacket was currently thrown over the nearest chair and his sleeves were rolled up. The otherwise quiet room was full of the muffled tapping of Crowley’s fingers on the laptop’s keyboard, his newly blond hair falling into his face though Crowley didn’t seem to mind.

Bobby leaned over Crowley’s shoulder, watching him type what looked like Enochian into a black box on the screen.

“What’re you doing?”

“Oh, just checking in with my secretary.” Crowley grinned. “Surprisingly, he’s still manning my office. I’ve told him we’ll be down shortly.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

Crowley rolled his eyes as he stood, rolling down his sleeves and crisping them with a flick of his wrist. “I’ve been offering to organize your library for years.”

“We’re not that friendly.” Bobby teased. “You left my gear at the house.”

“Salted shotgun shells are not going to do you that much good, Singer.” Crowley laughed. “Not in Hell.”

“It’s better than nothing.”

“And this,” Crowley laughed, holding out a sheathed machete-like blade to Bobby. “Is better than anything in your arsenal.”

Bobby drew out the nearly black blade, noticing only when the light reflected off of it that it was in fact a deep bronze. “What is this?”

“The Spear of Destiny. Reforged, of course.” Crowley shrugged. “Demons have a really nasty reaction to it, and I was on a Lord of the Rings kick when I had it made, so it’s called _Mai’tril_ now.”

Bobby raised an eyebrow, but shook his head, sheathing the blade once more, tucking it through his belt. A crack resounded through the air, and Gabriel appeared sitting in the chair Bobby had just been reclining in, his feet propped up on the ornate glass table.

“Hello boys.” Gabriel charmed, his tone utterly eerie to that of his adopted son.

A knock came at the door a few seconds later, and Bobby pushed past the laughing father and son to let Sam in.

“I, uh, figured I’d...” Sam stammered and Bobby nodded, shutting the door after him quickly. Across the room, Crowley and Gabriel burst into loud peals of laughter for no apparent reason.

“They’re being idjits.” Bobby huffed, shifting his weight, but Sam just shrugged his shoulders helplessly..

“Are you surprised?” he asked, and Bobby shook his head.

“Not even slightly. Come on, idjits! Are we going to Hell today or next week?”

Crowley rolled his eyes, but he followed Gabriel to the humans’ side. Sam shifted the bag on his shoulder, the demon-killing knife tucked in his belt.

“What’s the plan?” Gabriel prompted, leaning in and bumping against his son’s shoulder.

“Well,” Crowley grinned, pulling his phone out. “We won’t be going in the front door. I have a Reaper who owes me a favor, and we’re going in the backdoor.”

He pulled up a map which displayed in a holographic projection from his phone, hovering between them.

“Bobby and I will head up here, to the main Council chambers. I’m pretty sure that’s where the Knights will be, if they haven’t resorted to tearing each other’s throats out yet.”

“I thought all the Knights of Hell were killed.” Sam remarked, and Crowley just grinned.

“Knights aren’t that easy to kill. They’re like Winchesters. Killing them only makes them angrier.”

Sam scoffed, shaking his head to hide the slight smile playing on his lips. Crowley shifted part of the map to zoom in on a remote corner.

“Sam, I’d like for you and Dad to head down this corridor to my office. My secretary will be expecting you, and he’ll take you to a little secret niche of mine. There’s a key in there, an actual key. He’ll know which one, and I need you to grab it. Cas’ll need it for his big showdown. Then grab whatever you want from the weapons rack and get back topside. I’ll handle the big boys, and...”

“Wait.” Gabriel interrupted. “I’m going with you. Bobby can go with Sam.”

Crowley blinked, turning to fix a steady gaze on his father. “I don’t think we should be leaving either of the humans by themselves. Yes, Hell is a bit crazy right now, but it’s still Hell.”

“Hey, just because we’re human doesn’t mean we’re helpless.” Sam piped in, taking a step closer so the red gleam of the map projected onto his shirt. “The Knights will be a lot easier to win over with an archangel at your back. Bobby and I can take on the errand running.”

“Especially with the new shiny you gave me.” Bobby gruffed, indicating the blade at his belt.

“Fine.” Crowley shrugged, pulling his phone back and pressing a single button to close the map, then handing it to Sam. “You’ll need that. I know my way around.”

“So where’s this Reaper of yours?”

Crowley laughed, tugging Bobby over by his belt loop and fishing his phone out of his pocket. “She’ll come when she’s called, obviously.”

The room was quiet as Crowley punched a long series of numbers into the phone, far too many to be a phone number.

_"I'm sorry, the number you have dialed is not available. Please dial 1 or the area code..."_

"Shut it..." Crowley complained as he continued hitting numbers. Sam looked at Gabriel who shrugged.

Suddenly the phone shrieked, a whining slurry of incomprehensible gibberish in what Sam could've sworn was Robert Plant's voice, then the phone itself sparked and began to smoke before the screen cracked and went black.

Bobby leveled a silent glare at Crowley, who shrugged. "I'll buy you a new one."

“Crowley.”

The four of them turned at the new voice, and Sam actually smiled. The dark-haired Reaper returned his smile, her eyes bright and fond.

“Good to see you, Tess.”

“You too, Sam,” Tessa’s hair was longer than the last time he saw her, and her eyes crinkled when she laughed. “If it isn’t all my favorite Lazarii...well, almost all of you.”

Crowley grinned. “I’m cashing in my chips, Tess.”

“Hardly.” Tessa rolled her shoulders, flicking her hair back. “After this, you owe me.”

“Hey!” Crowley complained, folding his arms over his chest. “I helped you escape from Azazel. You’d still be his puppet if not for me.”

“Yes, but ferrying four living souls, two of which are angelic in origin, through the Veil to Purgatory and back? That’s not easy. You’re lucky my boss has a soft spot for the Winchesters.”

Behind her two more Reapers appeared, and Tessa smiled. “Four round-trip tickets to Purgatory.”

“When’s pick-up time?”

Tessa fished a small coin out of her pocket and offered it to Crowley, who nodded once and tucked into the chest pocket of his waistcoat.

“Shall we be off then?”

The three Reapers positioned themselves around the four men, each taking the hand of one until a circle was formed. Something unseen passed between the three, and the world around them rippled, light pouring in from all sides. Sam dropped his head, closing his eyes tightly, and Gabriel’s hand tightened in his. For a few seconds, it was all he could feel, the light scathing against his closed lids, and then it was quiet.

“Just call when you’re ready.” Tessa was saying as Sam blinked, willing away the spots dancing in front of his eyes.

When his vision returned, they were alone, and Crowley was spinning a strange looking top on the palm of his hand. It stopped suddenly, and Crowley grinned.

“Always a good boy. Let’s go, it’s this way.”

As he started walking in the precise opposite direction of the toy, Gabriel just shrugged at Sam’s questioning look. Bobby pushed past them both.

“We ain’t gonna get there by standing around, idjits.”

\--

The world that had been bright and new with spring had evolved into a violent gray, mounds of ash piled up in drifts and it fell over them in heavy, lethal snow. There was almost a perpetual roar in the air, which he was sure was Yellowstone itself, groaning in upheaval.

Dean instantly felt the heat wash over him the moment they landed, the volcanic ash falling heavy on his wings. The sudden ache had hit him as soon as they had landed. He’d known Castiel was going with his own forces to the mountain itself, but the distance had suddenly hit him, a driving need in his Grace to reunite with its mate. Almost as soon as he had voiced his distress to himself, warmth spread over him that had nothing to do with the volcano. He breathed a quiet sigh of relief in Castiel’s presence. It didn’t quite lessen the strain, but it made it easier to bear. It was hard, but he swallowed against the heat and turned to the angels in his command.

“Sir,” Maharet was by his side. “There are numerous groups of humans that have taken shelter inside. Some of the buildings are insecure, and there are humans that are stranded.”

“Okay, find the people that are stranded first, and get them to safety. Take them to shelters on the East Coast or something. Try and move families together. If a building is insecure, focus on getting the people inside out. Understood?”

“Yes sir!” The angels chorused and Dean grinned, shrugging his wings as the angels disappeared, all but Maharet.

Maharet stayed right by his side and together they worked their way further into the city. At first, it was simple. They’d locate people, pulling them out of wrecked cars and damaged buildings, and Maharet would ‘zap’ them to the nearest safe location. Dean couldn’t help but smile when he imagined their faces, suddenly landing a few thousand miles away in a ‘safe’ zone.

He lost track of time as he pushed ash aside, searching for people trapped beneath the rubble, his Grace-dar not quite as good as the other angels. In fact, he was losing track of them, all of them becoming covered by the same shade of grey.

As he was looking around, he heard a heavy tapping above his head and looked up to see a young woman in the window. Once she realized she had his attention, she quickly mouthed that the stairs were out and motioned behind her. Dean shook the ash from his eyes, glancing at the structure quickly. It was an old apartment building, and even as he stood there, he could hear the old wood creak. He stretched his wings, and the next instant he was in the room with the woman.

She yelped in surprise, and suddenly Dean understood why angels always started off their speeches with ‘Do not be afraid.’

“It’s okay, I’m here to help.” Dean said quickly, but her eyes were still wide.

“Mommy! God sent an angel to help us!” came a tiny voice and Dean found the voice to match an equally tiny girl now attached to his wing. Her brother was a few feet behind her, older, but still very frightened. Dean grinned, peering down at the little girl and jostling his wing. She giggled, wrapping both hands in his feathers, and her brother took a careful step forward.

“It’s okay,” Dean repeated, holding a hand out to the little boy. “My name is Dean. I’m going to take you away from the volcano.”

The woman came closer as well as the little boy took Dean’s hand. Dean looked up at her and smiled. “Do you have any family on the East Coast?”

“My brother lives in Florida.” She said softly. “George Eastley.”

It was sudden and unexpected how the information just poured into his brain. George Eastley, there were 200 George Eastleys in Florida, sixty-three had siblings, twenty-two had sisters, five had family in Colorado and one had a sister named Rosamund Cortez, widow of John Cortez, with two children, Carrie and John, Jr. He was staying at the Dolphin Hotel, room 1408, worriedly watching the news for word of his family. He hadn’t slept in two days.

Dean blinked in surprise, shaking his head and wondering if this was normal, not for the first time that day. Then again, his boyfriend was a celestial wavelength of intent, and the one time Dean had tried to read Castiel’s thoughts like Castiel read his, it had been a pure stream of mathematical equations that had given him a migraine in two seconds.

He wondered if he might understand it now, followed quickly by the query _“Just how human am I anymore?”_

“Okay.” Dean nodded, reaching down to the little girl. “Carrie, sweetie, I need my wing.”

She laughed, a bright sound, and released his wing, taking his hand in both of hers. Her dark hair was silver with ash, but she smiled nonetheless. Her mother, Rosamund, stepped forward slowly towards the man who held both of her children.

“I’m going to take you to your brother, okay?”

“I’m afraid of flying.” Rosamund whispered and Dean winked, offering her his most charming smile.

“Trust me. Doesn’t feel like flying. Now just...put your arms around my neck.”

Rosamund stepped forward, having to stand on her tiptoes to do as he asked, swallowing nervously. Dean stretched his wings and said a silent prayer ( _“Cas”)_ before he made his first attempt to transport three more people than he ever had before.

He stumbled slightly when his feet hit the floor, skidding on the tile of the hotel room kitchen. Mentally, Dean cursed. “Man, I was aiming for the living room.”

“Rosa?”

George Eastley appeared from around the corner, his eyes wide and mouth open in disbelief. Rosamund quickly detangled herself from Dean, running into George’s agape arms.

“Uncle George!” The kids cried in unison, and Dean smiled, flicking himself back to Colorado before they could turn around.

He was grinning when he landed back on the streets, and instantly Maharet was right in front of him. “Where did you go?”

“Florida. It was nice. Little humid though.” Dean winked at her and she folded her arms across her chest.

“I am your guardian. You can’t leave me behind.”

“Right.” Dean patted her shoulder. “Guess you don’t watch many movies then.”

\--

The mountain was angry.

Castiel didn’t know how else to describe it, looking down at the Yellowstone caldera as it unzipped itself, at least seven cracks in the earth spewing out fire and brimstone. All of Hell breaking loose, Dean might say. He raised his head, the sky black above them, lightning cracking through the obsidian clouds.

“Castiel,”

Castiel turned, regarding the angels that had come with him with solemn silence. His wings were heavy, his Grace churning without Dean’s presence, and he let out a slow breath as he pushed himself up from kneeling. He attempted to spread his wings, but they only shuddered against his back. Ireul was at his side almost instantly, steadying him with a hand against his side.

“Find the sigils.” Castiel ordered. “I want three angels at each point. Be ready. We are still on the brink of Hell, and Samael’s forces are moving. Report to Ireul when a sigil is complete.”

“Sir.”

The angels took off as soon as he was done, but Ireul stayed at his side.

“Ireul,”

“I’m not leaving you, sir.” Ireul said firmly. “You are not well. You should return to Jody Mills’.”

Castiel shook his head and immediately wished he hadn’t, dark spots dancing in front of his eyes.

“Sir!”

Castiel was vaguely aware of Ireul leading him beneath the shadow of an outcrop newly formed by the erupting volcano. He thought of how only days before, great beasts had roamed the land that was now charred and black with ash. Hot tears pricked the corners of his eyes as Jimmy’s stomach churned, his esophagus contracting, dispelling acid from his throat.

“Sh, it’s all right, I’ve got you.”

Ireul pushed his hair back from his face as his stomach tried to empty itself when there was nothing there to force out. Castiel found himself wondering if it would ever stop, but at last it did, and he rested his head against Ireul’s chest, sweat dotting his brow.

“You should’ve stayed behind and rested.” Ireul chastised, and Castiel laughed weakly.

“Humans have a phrase for moments such as these.” Castiel murmured and above him, Ireul smiled, tightening her grip on his shoulders a little more.

“I told you so?”

“Mmhmm,” Castiel hummed, not quite ready to open his eyes again. He felt Dean’s moment of triumph, the slight happiness he felt at teasing Ireul, and he smiled. “You certainly did.”

\--

Sam felt he should’ve been surprised when Crowley led them to a backdoor to Hell through Purgatory.

“If you knew about this, why did you just...use it four years ago? You know, when you and Cas tried to break open Purgatory? And the Leviathan broke out and Cas went nuts and...”

This had earned him a slap to the back of the head, which Sam maintained Crowley had done with a wing because face it, even with his new/old body, he wasn’t tall enough to smack Dean on the back of the head, let alone Sam.

“It was closed then, Moose. It had to be opened from this side. Obviously.”

Crowley had stolen his phone back and was using it as a compass. Or, at least, it looked that way, but to Sam, the compass that appeared on Crowley’s phone was spinning faster than he could read it. So it was hard to tell what, if anything, Crowley was doing.

“Ah, here we are.”

Sam and Bobby shared a look as Crowley indicated what looked like a normal looking rock in a pile of more normal looking rocks.

“It’s a rock.” Sam stated and Crowley sighed, waving his hand.

“Your brilliant mind has once again left me speechless, Moose. Now, if you don’t mind?”

Sam looked from Crowley to the rock and back again. “Excuse me?”

“I’m hardly the heavy lifter in this bunch.” Crowley explained, and Sam wondered if hitting his stepson would put him in the doghouse. More specifically, whether or not it’d be worth it.

Gabriel sighed and stepped between them, shifting the rock easily, and looked back over his shoulder at the two humans and Nephilim.

“Come on. If I have to smell another vampirate, I’m stabbing someone.”

“If you think Purgatory is bad, you won’t like Hell.”

Bobby huffed and pushed past all of them, leading the way into the swirling wind that screamed out of the portal, Crowley close on his heels. Gabriel shrugged and winked up at Sam, holding out his hand, and together they descended willingly into God’s garbage bin.

From his first stint into Hell, Sam mentally prepared himself for the screaming. Compared to the Cage, the hall they appeared in was deathly quiet. Every so often the walls would shake, dust cascading down on top of them, but Crowley moved forward, quickly taking the lead from Bobby. At an unbidden cue, they had all fallen silent, and there were moments when the darkness was so heavy, Sam’s only reprieve was the weight of Gabriel’s hand in his.

“Gabriel...could we...reach the Cage from here?” he whispered, and Gabriel missed a step.

“Theoretically, but why would you want to do that?” Gabriel hissed back.

“Adam...”

Gabriel let out a slow sigh. “I’m sorry, kiddo, but I don’t think there’d be anything left of your brother to pull out by now.”

“We should’ve tried harder...”

“Would you two quit yammering back there?” Crowley snapped from a few feet in front of them before they all came to an abrupt halt.

Crowley snapped his fingers and the light above them reluctantly flickered into life. Sam blinked as the fixture seemed to be both electric and gas, a flickering flame inside an opaque bulb. Then the red glow of Crowley’s map drew his attention and Sam glanced down.

“Now, you and Bobby, since Dad’s determined to go with me, will head down this corridor to my right. You’ll go, say, 100 yards and then there will be a fork. Go right. It’s going to circle around, keep going right. When things start getting shaky, you’re there. There’s not a door to my office now, you have to feel it, okay?”

“Sounds simple enough.” Sam complained, taking the phone when Crowley offered it to him.

“Oh, and my secretary will have some questions for you before he lets you in. Try to be creative?”

“Seriously?” Sam blinked, shaking his head. “That’s it?”

“Oh.” Crowley smirked, patting his shoulder. “Good luck?”

Sam stared incredulously at the King of Hell as he stole a kiss from Bobby and motioned Gabriel to his side, the two of them hurriedly disappearing down the opposite corridor. Almost instantly, the light above them was stifled and they fell into pitch darkness once again.

“Oh come on.” Sam sighed, then felt Bobby’s hand on his sleeve.

“Come on, boy. Let’s get this done and over with.”

\--

They’d been trapped inside Enoch’s local supermarket for two days now. (Enoch, the small town in Utah, not the half-drunk who penned the angelic language. Population: 2900, more or less. Probably less.) The tap water had been poisoned by the ashfall, and they’d turned the air-conditioning units off to prevent it from blowing ash inside, so the air was stale and hot. Bottled water was the only source, though the store manager still claimed to be charging them for whatever they used.

Missy Petersen sat on a display of grass seed, _Pennington Kentucky Blue! 2 for $15!_ , her camera on her knees. She’d been here on a routine run to cover Enoch’s little farmer’s market for the town’s even smaller newspaper. They hadn’t even bothered to send a camera guy with her, the black tripod laying haphazard on the floor by her feet.

The volcano had blown while she was halfway through her report, and she was pretty sure she’d gotten some decent footage of the sudden mushroom cloud on the horizon. The big news channels would love it, if she survived this rotten hellhole.

Missy flicked the camera on once again, fast-forwarding to blank tape. It was an old piece of crap, still using film rather than digital storage cards, but it still worked. Loyal to the end, her manager would say. She did a sweeping panorama of the people trapped with her, most of them huddled into small groups, drawing comfort from each other.

“Here we have what could very well be the last survivors of Enoch,” Missy narrated boredly. “I wonder what their last thoughts will be. ‘Did I leave the stove on?’ ‘Is the cat inside?’ ‘Are my loved ones all right?’”

Her narration earned her a few glares so Missy turned from them, kneeling on the tall display of seed, wiping the large storefront window with her sleeve before peering out. The ashfall covered the ground, though the streetlights illuminated the darkness faithfully, running on some sort of underground city generator she naturally assumed.

“Will this be my last report? Do you regret sending me here, Stanley? Knowing you sent me to my death? Do they give raises post-mortem?”

Missy debated cutting the camera off as she let her head fall against the window, her breath fogging it lightly. That was when half a dozen people suddenly appeared outside under the far light. Missy immediately sat up, nearly dropping the camera before checking the viewfinder to make sure they were in frame.

“Did you see that?” she hissed at the camera, her voice dropping even though the people outside could in no way here here. “They just appeared! Out of nowhere!”

As she watched, a half dozen more appeared, and then several more. One in the center, she couldn’t quite see, but the others were fanning out around him. He appeared to be giving orders, and as she watched, the ash seemed to gather on something invisible above his head. Most of the people disappeared once again, but a few stayed, including the leader, and she watched as whatever it was holding the ash off him shook. In the shadows and the ash, Missy swore she got the distinct impression of wings.

Then, the few who had stayed began jogging towards the supermarket, and Missy all but fell off the display.

“We have to open the doors!” she called, a few people lifting their heads to look at her. “There are people out there! People come to help...”

She didn’t get to finish as one of the people from outside simply appeared in front of her, and she had to backpedal fast to keep from running them over.

“Do not be afraid.” The woman said in the sudden deathly silence as more people appeared in the room with them: three women and two men. They were all dressed in clean, navy blue suits, except for one, who stumbled in last. He was dressed in jeans, a blue plaid shirt, and a military green jacket. He looked tired, but he shook it off and stepped forward.

“Hello.” He addressed the people slowly getting to their feet and Missy brought her camera up, trying to stay inconspicuous. “My name is Dean. We’re here to help.”

“What are you?” The store manager asked, and Missy watched as a small smile played on the man’s face.

“They’re angels.” The man named Dean answered, folding his hands together in front of him. “They’re going to take you someplace safe. Now, if you can just...go to the angel closest to you. If you have family, let them know, we’re trying to keep families together.”

Confusion spread around the group, but after a minute or two, the first few began moving towards the waiting angels, who welcomed them with soft smiles. Whispers grew around the room as they spoke of their families, where they might be safe. Missy zeroed in on the one called Dean, not hiding her camera anymore as she got close.

Dean glanced at the camera then blushed, looking away, looking for Maharet. She was helping a couple, and he was left with the girl with the camera.

“You should put that away.” He tried, but she just kept looking at him through the viewfinder.

“If you’re angels, why doesn’t God just stop Yellowstone from erupting?”

“Uh,” Dean started moving away, running a hand through his hair. “It’s complicated. There’re angels up there right now, working on it.”

“Are you saying God doesn’t care?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Dean said quickly. “Cut that off.”

Missy grinned. “You know, I always thought angels were sparkly wings and fire and halos, but you’re pretty cute.”

“I’m taken, sweetheart.” Dean grinned, and Missy shrugged.

“Come on, show me your wings. I bet they’re awesome.”

“It’s, uh, not that simple.”

“Oh, please?” She gave him her best smile, zooming the camera in on his pretty green eyes.

“If I do, will you go away?” Dean sighed.

Missy nodded quickly, backing up to make sure she would get all of his wingspan in frame. Dean looked positively miserable, but he closed his eyes, his brow furrowing as he concentrated, and then Missy gasped as two huge white wings burst from his back, curling over him, iridescent and everything she could’ve hoped for.

An instant later, they were gone, and a dark-haired female angel was between them, glaring sternly at Dean. He shrugged and looked at the angel helplessly, and then the angel flicked her wrist at Missy, the camera dying in her hands.

“Hey!” Missy yelped.

“Seek out help elsewhere.” The angel snapped and all but dragged Dean away from her.

Missy huffed, but pocketed her camera, hoping that she still had the footage from before the angel cut it off. She sauntered over to one of the other angels, a tall male blond.

“Hey, I got a friend who works at NBC in New York, can you drop me off there?”

“Certainly, ma’am.”

Dean huffed when Maharet finally stopped dragging him, and folded his arms over his chest.

“Hey, she was just curious. Cas showed me his wings when we first met.”

“No, Cas showed you shadows of his wings. You could’ve hurt her. Also, with how many angels’ wings have you actually come into contact?” Maharet demanded, her grip on his arm not letting up.

“Um, just Cas’, I think.” Dean answered quickly. “Unless you count Crowley.”

“Precisely. Wings are an intimate part of an angel’s true form. You don’t just show them off.” Maharet continued her rant, finally releasing him and straightening her suit. “It could be misconstrued as disloyalty to Castiel, not something that should be displayed at such a crucial point in this war.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll watch my ass from now on.”

Maharet visibly relaxed, if only for a moment. “Thank you. Now shall we continue?”

\--

The mountain rumbled, but to Castiel, it seemed quieter. The caldera was starting to fall in on itself, huge landslides crashing around them as the mountains fell into the empty space the magma left behind. He lifted his head to the sky, bringing his Grace to him, and using it to thin the clouds above them. It would take time to cleanse the sulfur from the air, but the task looked less impossible by the hour.

He sought out Dean in the darkness, reaching for his mate, and Dean was there. He could feel Dean’s pride and accomplishment at helping those in need, and he smiled through his pain. He heard the voices of his brothers as another sigil fell back into place, the mountain calming even more, the once massive column of smoke and ash now a dismal trickle.

Castiel could sense the final sigil now, and it wasn’t too far from him, so he pushed himself up. Whatever Ireul had done to him made him painfully aware of the split in his Grace, the niche inside him that the fledgling had carved out for itself. Why had their Father chosen such a time to bring this life into him? His Grace, already in tatters from moulting, could barely support him let alone another. His entire body hurt, even his vessel hurt, and it was a constant struggle to keep his pain from Dean.

His Grace longed to express itself as it was meant to, his moulting so long overdue, but he held it back. _Not just yet. We’re almost there, just hang on._

A crack resounded through the air that did not come from the volcano, and Castiel lost his footing, sliding down the side of the cliff face he was climbing for a few feet until he caught an edge. He turned, peering out through the shadows to find his brothers and sisters, at the very least seeking out Ireul.

“Castiel.”

Castiel slowly straightened, clenching his jaw when the fledgling twisted inside him, protesting his movement.

“Bartholomew.”

The angel descended towards him, angel blade held loosely in his hand. Castiel took a step back, searching for equal footing on the shaky cliff bank.

“I did not expect you to be following Samael.” Castiel said softly, drawing his own silver blade. His hands felt clammy, and Bartholomew wavered in and out of his vision. “Your love for humanity was renowned in our garrison.”

“It is for humanity I fight.” Bartholomew explained, his eyes darkening with sympathy and regret. “First Lucifer, then Michael and Raphael...Gabriel abandoning us to our fate? What have the archangels done for us, for their own people, for our mission? The archangels have destroyed this world, and I will free our brothers and sisters from their tyranny. Starting with you.”

Castiel fell to his knees, his eyes wide and gleaming with unshed tears as he raised his head.

“Do you honestly think I would follow their path, brother?” Castiel whispered.

“Power has mutated you before, Castiel.” Bartholomew answered woefully, stepping forward and he cupped his hand around Castiel’s jaw as he raised his blade. “I cannot take that chance.”

Castiel closed his eyes, leaning into his brother’s touch. “Have faith, brother. Please.”

He could hear the fighting of the other angels now. Bartholomew was not the only angel to feel this way, it seemed, and he had brought his own followers with him. Tears carved furrows in the ash on Castiel’s face as he felt his siblings die around him, and Castiel covered Bartholomew’s hand with his own.

“Please, please, stop. Haven’t enough of our brothers and sisters died in senseless war?”

His angel blade lay discarded next to him, and Bartholomew’s grip suddenly lessened as Castiel’s tears fell over his hand. There was a crack as Ireul appeared a few feet away, and she struck out towards Bartholomew, blade raised.

“NO!” Castiel shouted, raising a hand to stop Ireul, and she froze, watching Bartholomew closely. Blood already spattered her blouse, her stance wary. Castiel turned back to Bartholomew, taking the hand from his face and placing it against his chest.

“Look at me, brother. Look at _me._ ” Castiel prodded, opening himself to his brother. “My Grace is split with that of my mate, my _human_ mate. In what world can you believe that I would betray my mate?”

Bartholomew’s eyes went wide as their wings tangled together, his Grace skimming over Castiel’s. “ _Pii olora.”_

“Yes, my brother.” Castiel gasped in relief. “I do not ask you to fight with me, but please, have faith in me.”

Bartholomew fell to his knees, holding Castiel’s face in his hands, bringing their lips together hurriedly before wrapping his arms around Castiel’s shoulders, pulling them close. Castiel laid his head on his brother’s shoulder, his arms loose around his back. Ireul relaxed, her blade dropping to her side.

“The last sigil...” Ireul reminded them, and this time Bartholomew assisted Castiel in standing.

“Why have you not finished your moulting?” Bartholomew quickly inquired. “The strain is breaking you.”

Castiel smiled as Ireul took his other side and they hurried up the mountain. “Waiting for the opportune moment, I suppose.”

At the top of the cliff face they had been standing on, the three angels positioned themselves in a triangular formation. Ireul spoke quickly, and the massive sigil began to shine at their feet. The cracks in it showed wide, and Ireul and Bartholomew began speaking in tandem, quick Enochian to fix the damage that Siobhan had caused when he pushed the Gates open. Castiel was content to rest on his knees, letting the magic use his Grace as was needed, sharing in their price.

\--

The smell of rotting meat never seemed to fade, permeating the air around them until it felt thick in their lungs. At first, Sam had fumbled his way along in the darkness with one hand against the wall. At least, until his hand brushed against some wet, squishy, and _alive._ That had been the end of that.

Sam didn’t ask how Bobby had fashioned his torch, but the dim, flickering light of the flame somehow made everything worse. It felt like they’d been walking for hours, following Crowley’s vague directions, when Sam noticed the floor began sloping upwards. It became lighter as well, and he could see now that the floor was slate grey and fading from stone to marble tile.

Bobby extinguished his torch and tossed it backwards. The walls were a warm taupe, clean white chair-molding acting as a guide as the floor leveled out once again. There were a few pictures on the walls, office friendly type generic paintings, and Sam mostly ignored them until he passed one that made him burst out laughing, startling the elder hunter next to him.

It was of nothing more than Crowley and Castiel, obviously taken with Crowley’s phone, and Castiel looking at the camera with confusion. Crowley was wearing plastic red horns, while he’d fashioned a glimmering halo on Castiel.

Bobby glared at him, but Sam pulled out his phone and snagged a quick picture before hurrying on.

He hadn’t taken three steps before the ground quaked beneath them, sending both of them into the wall, and the pictures threatened to fall and shatter against the marble floor.

“He did say things would get shaky...” Bobby gruffed and Sam raised his eyebrows, a slight smile playing on his lips as he shook his head, pushing himself off the wall.

“We’re close then.” Sam pulled out Crowley’s phone to check the map, but by the indicator, they no longer existed. “Fantastic.”

“Crowley said we had to feel the door.” Bobby repeated and Sam nodded, looking along the endless expanse of blank walls.

“You go right, I’ll go left?”

Bobby shrugged and headed down the corridor, his fingers brushing the wall, and Sam headed down the opposite direction. The vague color of the walls was beginning to give him a headache. This was so very unlike Crowley, all the sameness, the placidity. Crowley was elegance, but this was...ugh. This was the kind of decor that drove men in cubicles to jump out of windows.

Sam had been walking steadily for about five minutes before he stopped. “What the hell is going on?”

Another trembling quake wracked the hallway, but Sam remained on his feet. He turned back and forth, looking forward and then back the way he came. “There’s no turns or openings or anything! It just goes on and on!”

Sam kicked the wall, shoving himself backwards until he slid down to the floor. “Feel it, feel it, what the hell does he mean?”

Closing his eyes, Sam took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind. So much crap had been going on lately that it was hard. Dean and Cas would be fighting right now. One fighting to save lives, the other fighting to stop a mountain. He thought of his dream, and of all the pain he’d felt coming off of Cas in waves. Knowing that there was no demon blood in him, he’d given in to his psychic abilities. He’d even called Missouri and gotten a few tips. He’d been practicing and...

Sam’s eyes snapped open. “Feel it. Okay, Crowley, let’s do this.”

He stood up and closed his eyes once again, taking a deep breath, and he reached out. He ignored the mundane, overbearingness of the hallway and reached past it to the hall’s very aura. It was cold, dark, a dark blue and cloudy. The walls seemed to close in around him, and he could feel the pain and anguish of the tortured souls none too far away. The ground quaked and for a moment he almost lost his concentration, the ley lines wavering in his sight, and then everything steadied again.

Moving forward felt like walking through sand, and his chest felt tight. The aura of this place was foul, but Sam pushed through. He tested the walls as he passed, feeling for any change, any niche, anything at all.

It was tiny, and he almost didn’t notice it at first. A spire of light shone through the darkness, almost as if it were peering through a keyhole. As Sam turned towards it, light framed the doorway, spilling out, chasing the gloom away.

Sam opened his eyes, facing another inexplicably plain panel of wall, but he laid his hand against it and felt the same warm aura.

“Bobby! Here! I found it!”

Footsteps echoed, but it took Bobby a minute to arrive, and Sam didn’t dare lift his hand from the door.

“Sam, that’s just a wall.”

“Trust me.” Sam grinned. “This is it. I can feel it.”

Bobby shrugged. “Well, then, where’s the knob?”

Sam closed his eyes again, concentrating, and he could just sense someone on the other side of the door. However, the protective sigils on it were immense.

“Why not try knocking?” Sam murmured. Bobby shrugged again, so Sam raised his hand, knocking three times.

A quiet voice came through the wall, wavering slightly. “Who is it?”

“Sam Winchester and Bobby Singer.” Sam answered. “Crowley sent us to pick up a couple things.”

“Of course, very good, sir.” The voice replied, sounding quite small. “I’ll prepare drinks. Would you like coffee or tea, sir?”

“Really?” Bobby exclaimed but Sam held up a hand.

“Crowley said there’d be questions. Okay, um...Crowley’s got that English accent so...tea?”

“Very good, sir. Would you like milk or lemon?”

Sam glanced at Bobby who shrugged, looking at Sam incredulously, and Sam worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “Uh, um...”

He grinned suddenly. “That would depend on the tea.”

Sam was positively bouncing on his feet as he waited for the next question.

“Excellent, sir. Now, if you please, in what month of this year will filming begin for the new production of ‘ _Fifty Shades of Grey_?’”

Bobby turned red and swore, but Sam was beaming. “Surely such a travesty will never happen.”

He turned to Bobby, grinning. "Bastard's quoting 'The Da Vinci Code.'"

There was a pause on the other side of the door, then the distinct sound of a key turning, and the wall fell away to reveal a large, elaborate oak door. The handle clicked, and the old door groaned as it was pulled back, then Sam blinked in surprise when Crowley’s secretary stepped out.

He was just a child.

He couldn’t be more than nine or ten years old, neat blond hair, and a navy blue suit that perfectly matched his eyes. The boy swallowed hard, obviously frightened, and he visibly flinched when the hallway shook once again.

“Sirs, if you please?” He waved his arm to invite them in, and Sam nodded to himself at the pleasant luxury of the office. This was Crowley.

“Yer just a kid.” Bobby huffed as the boy pushed the door shut behind them. “You can’t be Crowley’s secretary.”

“I prefer assistant.” The boy said simply. “Crowley had been very kind to me, and I’m very grateful.”

“He’s got you working as his assistant, how is that kind?”

The boy shrugged, looking down. “It’s better than being down there.”

Sam and Bobby traded a knowing look, and then the boy bounced on his feet, folding his hands together in front of his chest.

“That’s enough of that. My name is Christian, how may I be of assistance to you?”

“Your name is Christian? You’re a demon and your name is Christian?”

“It’s a long story,” The boy shuffled nervously. “You said Crowley sent you to pick something up? He did leave me instructions.”

“He said there was a key, a key that Cas would need.” Sam indicated as Christian half-jumped behind the large desk. The floor rattled again, and Sam huffed, reaching out to an estranged angelic statue to steady himself.

Bobby had picked up a picture from the desk, peering at it curiously before setting it back down. Sam could tell from the corner of his eye that it was a picture of Bobby himself, but from years ago, back when he could barely remember Bobby, when he had been just a child. Then, as Bobby noticed him looking and held the picture out to him, he realized it had been _exactly_ when he was a child.

It was a picture of Bobby, with him and his brother. Dean couldn’t have been old than eight or nine, and he himself no more than four. It was the day that Bobby had taken them to the park while their dad had hunted down a werewolf with ties to demonic activity. That was the day that Sam had learned that their life wasn’t normal.

He remembered the elderly man who had seen them and asked if he could take a picture for his photography class. The man had barely been able to walk, but Bobby had just shrugged. At first they had stood by his sides, but the man asked them to sit down on the grass and just talk to each other for a more natural photo. Bobby had ended up telling them the story of Pinocchio, the first fairy tale that Sam had ever heard.

When the story was over, the old man was gone.

“I can’t believe it.” Sam breathed. “That sneaky son of a...”

Another hard shake rattled the office, knocking a small statue off the oaken bookcase behind the desk, and Sam half fell onto the desk, Bobby’s hand landing on his shoulder as he fell as well.

“What is causing that?” Sam exclaimed, and Christian came out from under the desk sheepishly, clutching a small box to his chest.

“Saint Michael, sir.”

Sam’s eyebrows nearly connected with his hairline. “Christian, how close are we to the Cage?”

“Right on top of it, sir.”

“How do I get down to it?” Sam’s voice was steel, his eyes hard.

“What’re you thinking, boy?”

Sam didn’t say, he just pulled Crowley’s phone back out, pulling up the map. “How do I get there?”

Christian looked at him nervously, before touching the screen on a symbol that Sam hadn’t recognized. He pressed a few more, and then a small indicator appeared on the map with a line showing the direction he should go.

“Thanks, Christian. Is that the key?”

Christian looked down at the box he was holding, the front of it marked with two four-point triangles intersecting each other. “Yes.”

“Thanks.” Sam said again, pulling the box from Christian and running for the door.

“Wait!” Christian called desperately. “You can’t take that out yet, it’ll...”

But Sam was already gone, and the office gave a massive quake, actually dropping a few inches, and Bobby looked to Christian worriedly.

“...’cause the spell to break.” Christian finished woefully. He looked around hurriedly, then snapped his fingers, the contents of the office vanishing. Christian grabbed Bobby’s hand, pulling him towards the door.

“We have to get out! Now!”

“Sam!” Bobby called as soon as they were out. “Which way, boy?”

Christian pointed, then flinched as Bobby began running in that direction as well. “ _Tā mā de...”_

He shook his head then began running after the two as the walls shook around them. “Sam Winchester! Lord Consort! We have to leave! Please!”

Sam was way ahead of the two before they’d even exited Crowley’s office, the phone in his hand beeping when he should turn. The beige walls gave way to carved stone, every inch covered in protective sigils, and the phone finally lead him to a spiraling staircase, each step hewn and uneven, making him stumble several times as he tried to run down them.

When he reached the bottom, a wave of energy washed over him, and he sat down hard. Before him was a massive gate. There was nothing else. No walls, no hinges, just a gate. Another wave hit him, and Sam pressed his hands to his forehead, the aura of the place so very black he was sure his head was splitting open with the amount of it all. He turned, his stomach spilling itself onto the stone steps, acid churning in his throat.

Small hands gripped the back of his jacket, hauling him backwards, and Sam scrambled on the stone. He crawled back up the stairs, and when he could breath again, he opened his eyes to see that Christian was holding him tightly, his head resting in the young boy’s lap. Tears were streaming down the boy’s face.

“You can’t go down there, you’ll die.” Christian said simply, touching Sam’s forehead. “Too much pain in there.”

“Bobby?”

“The Lord Consort is at the head of the stairs.” Christian said softly, and Sam realized the boy was shaking. “We have to get out before the spell collapses or we’ll be trapped.”

The stairs shuddered beneath them, and Sam stood when his head felt clear enough. He looked down the stairs to the palpable darkness and swore. He hooked his hands beneath Christian’s arms, hauling the boy up and Christian wrapped himself around Sam’s torso, hiding in his shoulder. Sam took the stairs two and sometimes three at a time until he nearly ran into Bobby.

Sam pushed the key Christian had given them into Bobby’s hands and then the two ran in near unison back the way they had come, moving almost on pure instinct towards the back door out of Hell and back into Purgatory.

\--

Finding his way back to the Council room had been less of a stroll, and more of a blood-filled chaotic nightmare, one for which Crowley was vastly glad that he had Gabriel at his side. He could only hope that Sam and Bobby were having an easier time of it. He glanced back and Gabriel smiled at him, his own silver blade covered in the blood of demons.

“How much further?”

“Not much.” Crowley grinned, not even caring that his suit was bathed in blood. He could only imagine what a sight that would make, a grand entry if anything.

He carved his own path through the demons guarding the Council room. He could hear the rising voices echoing through the vast doors, and Crowley paused with his hand on the trap, stretching and unfurling his wings. Then he shoved the doors in with a burst of flame, searing through the protective sigils, and the voices inside fell silent.

Bodies were strewn over the once white marble floor, all Knights of Hell. A Knight could only be killed by another knight, or an angel, and even then it was difficult, so Crowley could only imagine how long they’d been fighting.

Gabriel moved silently behind him, both of them stepping over bodies as they moved, until they came to the last remaining Knights, the strongest, all watching him nervously.

“Who the fuck are you?” One snarled, and Crowley just grinned. 

“Oh, boys and girls, what a mess you’ve made? I’m surprised at who’s left, really. Kerberos, Arnon, Htori, Tzipporah....Stanley? Now really, how did you survive this long?”

“He cowered in the corner like the dog he is,” Kerberos snarled, his dark hair dripping with blood. Tzipporah shifted behind him, her own gleaming red hair falling about her like a curtain. Arnon and Htori lurked as they always did. Grade A lurkers, they were.

“You’re no Knight, and you come with an archangel as lackey. Angels do not rule hell.” Tzipporah echoed, her lips as red as the blood dripping from her fingers.

“Good thing I’m not an angel then,” Crowley mused. “But if you’re going to take my throne from me, we’re going to have some very cross words.”

Arnon’s brow furrowed, drawing into stark relief the already sharp angles of his face. “Crowley?”

“It can’t be.” Kerberos hissed, stepping forward. “Nicolai killed Crowley. It took working with angels to do so, but she revealed the imposter as nothing more then a foul Nephilim.”

“ _Nothing more_ than a Nephilim?” Crowley repeated, smiling and shaking his head. “You do know a Nephilim is half-angel right?”

“And half-human. Flawed, half frail, half brittle, half...”

“Half adamantine.” Crowley snarled, plunging his angel blade into Kerberos’ chest.

The Knight’s eyes went wide, fire flashing beneath his skin, and he fell to his knees as Crowley jerked his blade back out, blood spattering behind him. Crowley’s chest heaved once as he flicked his wrist.

“Add it together, and I’m still better than you, Kerby.”

Crowley twisted his hand in Kerberos’ hair, and shoved the blade through his eye. He watched coldly as the last of the Knight’s life flickered out before he pulled his blade free and let Kerberos crumple to the floor. He looked up at the remainder of the Knights, and they all recoiled as the room filled with the light of his wings, scarlet flames and rippling iridescent as they had not in centuries.

“Lucifer was an angel. Now another angel will sit on the throne of Hell.” Crowley snarled. “I am the Nephilim, Malachi, the demon, Crowley, and the son of the archangel, Gabriel. Bow or die.”

Crowley twirled his blade through his fingers as one by one, the Knights dropped to one knee.

“Good.” he grinned. “We have that settled. Now clean up your mess like good little girls and boys, and we’ll see about getting things back in order. We have a war to fight.”

Crowley turned back to Gabriel, who was practically beaming at him. It took but a second for the Knights to eliminate the dead bodies and go their own ways, leaving an empty room. Save for one.

“Dammit, Stanley! Get out! I swear, you’re like the Moon Moon of Knights, go on!”

Crowley chased the Knight out and then skipped up to his throne, flopping down. “Never thought I’d be King of Hell, did you?”

Gabriel grinned, stepping up onto the throne platform, eyeing the seat next to the throne before he sat next to his son. “What does that make me?”

“A monkey’s uncle.”

Both dissolved into laughter, and Crowley found himself reaching for his father’s hand and squeezing it tightly.

“Okay, Cas. Hell’s got your back. Let’s do this.”

\--

Dean didn’t want to admit it, but he was reaching his limit. He’d never used his Grace so much in so little time, and he almost fell when he landed in the new city. Maharet was quickly at his side, but spots danced in front of his eyes.

“You should return to Jody Mills’. Or at least let me take you someplace safe.”

Dean shook his head, blinking until the spots faded. “Nah, I’m good. Just point me in the right direction and we’ll start hauling some people out.”

Maharet was stiff at his side, however, and Dean distinctly recognized a strange buzzing sound. It took him a minute to realize he wasn’t hearing it with his ears, but with his Grace.

 _Angels approaching_ , his Grace informed him. _Hostile, ETA 12 seconds_.

“Shit.” Dean hissed, starting to rise before Maharet forced him down, his mouth filling with ash as he tried to protest. He spat and coughed, rolling to one side as he saw angels appearing, blades drawn. He reached out to the angels in his command, warning them as Maharet took on three by herself, moving fluidly against them.

“Maharet! Get back!” he ordered, but she ignored him, slicing through the attacking angels with cold precision. Even with her persistence, a couple got past her and Dean realized he was basically unarmed. He’d always practiced against demons, somehow it never occurred to him to think of fighting angels with his Grace.

He looked around as angels, his angels, appeared to fight, driving themselves against their brothers. Dean wasn’t expecting to feel their deaths, but every angel that fell was a sharp _ping_ in his chest.

“Why are you fighting us!?” he wailed, tears pricking suddenly at his eyes. “We’re just trying to help people? Carrying out God’s last order, _saving_ people!”

A few faltered in their fight, one even stopped, his sword falling to his side, but the war raged on around him. Dean pressed his hands to his forehead.

 _Cas, I don’t know what to do!_ He all but shouted, the bond having fallen to a trickle between them due to the distance. There was a surge of pain from Castiel’s side as it opened, his heart clenching with worry, and then the information just flowed to him as the first angel reached him, poised to kill.

“ _Pizin noco iad!”_ Dean shouted, and the three nearest angels collapsed, writhing in agony.

Another jumped his fallen brother, sprinting towards Dean and caught him around the throat. Dean struggled, striking out as the angel raised a silver blade. Dean wrapped his hand around the angel’s throat, deciding to try something of his own.

“ _Teloch...noco iad...”_ he gasped, and the angel twisted, the half-formed spell not quite enough to put it on its knees.

Even with blood dripping from its eyes and mouth, the angel straightened, glaring at Dean.

“How dare you. You think you can write a spell? Kill an angel, just like that?”

Her hand closed hard around his throat once again, squeezing, and Dean felt his eyes rolling back as his windpipe closed off, preventing him from speaking.

“Angels do not die so easily.” She continued, and the edges of his mind turned dark, closing in on him as Dean scrambled for something, anything with which to fight back. Something heavy and slender dropped into his hand, warm and pulsing with power, and Dean smiled through his surprise.

_I know one way that works._

He brought the angel blade, _his_ angel blade up, driving it up under the angel’s ribcage and into its heart. He opened his eyes to see the light burn from his would-be killer’s face, and they both collapsed to the ground at the same time, one dead, one gasping for air. Bruises bloomed on Dean’s throat, and his vision swam as Maharet appeared before him.

He should’ve protested as she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and slid another beneath his knees, lifting him easily, but it was all he could do to keep a grip on his angel blade, unsure how to put it back to wherever it came from. Then Maharet was flying and Dean let himself slip into unconsciousness.

\--

Sam didn’t know how he found the portal back to Purgatory, but when they ran through into the calm of the Purgatory forests, he skidded to a stop. Bobby made as if to push the rock back over it, but Sam stopped him.

“If we close it, Crowley and Gabriel can’t get back out.”

“They’ve been going back and forth for centuries, kid, I’m sure this back door was only for us humans.” Bobby gruffed and Sam only shrugged, linking his hands together beneath Christian’s rump. The demon-boy was still locked around him, shaking, and Sam nodded as Bobby pushed the rock back into place, then drew the black blade Crowley had given him.

“Let’s move, and hope Crowley’s Reaper friend is listening.”

“Tessa.” Sam corrected. “She’ll show.”

Bobby nodded, leading the way back to where Tessa had left them earlier.

\--

Ireul arrived back at Jody Mills’ house only a few minutes before Maharet, and she laid Castiel down on the bed he shared with Dean. Simon spun away from Zadkiel in the living room, running to crawl onto the bed and into his father’s arms. Castiel’s Grace was swollen and torn, and Bartholomew looked down at him sympathetically.

“I didn’t realize...in Heaven, there are so many rumors about the archangel, Castiel. An angel of more faces than wings, fierce, untouchable. But he is so broken, not even an archangel yet. Why does Samael consider him such a threat?”

Castiel coughed, blood dotting his lips, and Ireul poured a glass of holy water, holding it to Castiel’s lips.

“Bartholomew, are you trained in healing sigils?” She demanded, not even sparing him a glance as he nodded.

“Yes, ma’am, I am.”

Ireul looked up at him as Castiel coughed again, blood tainting the water.

“Bond separation, do it now.”

“No need,” Maharet called from the living room, and Bartholomew moved quickly out of her way as she carried Dean into the room. Simon stood up, motioning her forward, his stuffed bee tucked under his arm, and she laid Dean on the bed next to Castiel.

“What happened?” Castiel gasped, taking in Dean’s drained Grace and the dark bruises on his neck. “You were supposed to protect him!”

“We were attacked.” Maharet said quietly. “Samael’s forces took us by surprise.”

Castiel pushed Ireul away, pulling Dean against his chest and throwing the bond wide open, letting his tattered Grace flow over Dean’s, healing them both as only bondmates could. Simon curled happily between them, his free hand curled in Dean’s jacket. The angels filed out silently as Castiel hummed an ancient song for his mate.

Quiet notes drew Dean out of the darkness, his eyes fluttering as he realized where he was. “Cas?”

“I’m here, love.”

“Da!” Simon exclaimed, and Dean smiled. “Hey there, buddy. You have fun with Zad?”

Simon’s thoughts were happy and peaceful, so Dean reached out to Cas instead.

“You okay, Cas?” he murmured. “You were in pain earlier. I felt it.”

“I’m fine.” Castiel lied, running his fingers through Dean’s hair. “All’s well.”

“You’re lying.” Dean laughed. “I can tell.”

“What do you want me to say?” Castiel whispered, pressing a light kiss to Dean’s forehead.

“Tell me the truth. Tell me where it hurts.”

A tear slowly slid down Castiel’s cheek in the long pause that followed, the angel trembling slightly. “Everywhere. It all hurts, all the time. It doesn’t stop. I can’t even enjoy...enjoy...”

“Enjoy what, Cas?” Dean opened his eyes, struggling to sit up, but Castiel shook his head. Simon frowned at his parents, hugging his bee tightly.

When it seemed he wasn’t getting anything else from Castiel, Dean reached through their bond, gently brushing against Castiel’s Grace. Castiel sighed in sudden relief, melting into his arms, and Dean rubbed his back soothingly. He wasn’t expecting it, but as it had before with the woman, and in the battle, his Grace suddenly began feeding him information. This time, about his mate.

_Castiel, archangel, mated to Dean Winchester, angel-human. Status of Grace: moulting/split. Keeper, skilled in multiple forms of combat, xenolinguist._

“Split?” Dean echoed, cupping Castiel’s face in his hands. “Cas, what does it mean, split? What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” Castiel sobbed. “I didn’t know it would happen, it was an accident. I didn’t think your Grace was strong enough, and I was so sure I wouldn’t make it through the battle, I wanted to do something special, something to remember...”

“Cas, what are you talking about?” Dean’s voice steadied, but his heart was pounding in his chest. “What’s wrong?! Tell me, we can fix it!”

Castiel shook his head. “No, we can’t. I’m so sorry.”

“Cas...just tell me.”

“We shared our Grace...” Castiel whispered, and Dean nodded.

“I remember, the angel sex. Is that what you mean, do something special?”

Castiel nodded and Dean found himself grinning. “What, did we break some angel taboo or something?”

Castiel shook his head. “Dean....angels are not sexual creatures. They don’t...engage in intercourse...share Grace...without purpose.”

“Okay, I’m following.” Dean said softly. “It’s like, what, Puritan New England, right? If you have sex, there better be a baby coming up in nine months.”

Castiel looked at Dean pointedly, and Dean blinked, his mouth clicking shut.

“No...no way...”

“An angel’s Grace splits when they share Grace with their mate so that a new angel can be born.” Castiel explained, his voice barely above a whisper.

“No...” Dean breathed. “Cas, no...”

“I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“Cas, we’re on the eve of a battle...” Dean started. “A battle you can’t even promise me you’ll make it through, and now you’re telling me that you’re _pregnant!?_ ”

“I wasn’t planning on telling you to begin with,” Castiel muttered bitterly.

“Why the fuck not!?” Dean shouted, getting to his feet.

Neither of them noticed when Zadkiel gently lifted Simon from the bed and slipped back out.

“Because you have enough to worry about!” Castiel returned. “You always carry the weight of the world on your shoulders, and you’re worried enough about me fighting in this war, how could I add a child to that weight? I can barely stand the thought of you mourning my death, you would not survive mourning me and our unborn child!”

“Dammit, Cas! You don’t get to make that kind of decision for me!” Dean huffed, dropping back onto the bed, covering his face in his hands.

“Tell me I’m wrong in my thesis and I will agree with you.” Castiel said softly.

Dean ran a hand through his hair. “There’s no way we can fight this war without you, is there?”

“No, Dean.”

“Can we call up Samael and maybe ask for a postponement?”

Castiel just looked at him, and Dean sighed. “Cas...you can’t...I know I said I was okay, that I trusted you, but I meant like...war stuff. Not this.”

“Dean,” Castiel gently tipped Dean’s head up. “How can I give you everything you’ve ever wanted, and then ask you to risk it all being taken away?”

“But that’s what you’re doing!” Dean’s voice rose once more. “How can you ask me to let you walk into battle? How can _you_ walk into battle knowing if you die, so does our kid?”

“Because if I don’t fight, our child will die anyway.” Castiel’s forehead rested against Dean’s, and he could feel Castiel’s warm breath on his lips.

“Tell me honestly.” Dean asked quietly. “You said, when those angels broke your binding, that some of the images you saw were of the future. Do you have any idea of how this battle is going to go down?”

“Yes.” Castiel answered solemnly. “Fleeting emotions, nothing concrete.”

“Tell me what you see.”

“I know I have to wait.” Castiel said softly. “I have to hold back my moulting until I stand before the armies of Heaven. Beyond that, I see nothing for myself. Only emptiness.”

“What about me?” Dean asked quietly, dreading Castiel’s answer.

“For you,” Castiel’s voice dropped until Dean could barely hear it. It broke as he spoke his next words, and Dean felt Castiel’s tears on his own cheeks. “For you, my love, I see only pain.”

Dean closed his eyes, his tears mixing with Castiel’s. “Well, fuck that.”

Castiel pulled back, confused, but he didn’t get a chance to ask his question before Dean was kissing him. Different from the quick, familiar kisses they shared that very morning, this was every bit as frantic and desperate as their first had been. Dean had been facing losing his mate then, as well, and just like then, Dean refused to give him up now that he had him.

“Fuck Atropos and her sisters, fuck destiny and psychic visions, fuck all of it, you’re mine, you hear me? _Mine._ ”

Dean’s hands were hot as they pushed under cloth, and Castiel barely had a chance to stutter out “ _Yours_ ” before Dean’s lips were on his again. Castiel often forgot just how muted sensation was when translated through his human vessel, but when Dean’s Grace flared against his, surrounding and filling him, he screamed into Dean’s mouth, his fingers digging hard into the base of Dean’s wings.

“Dean, please!” Castiel protested the sudden surge of Dean’s Grace, but Dean silenced him again with a kiss.

“You’re already pregnant, why the fuck not?”

And, well, Castiel couldn’t argue with that logic.

He all but tore Dean’s shirt off in his haste, and found a second later that Dean had somehow learned to magic clothes away. Or perhaps it had been instinctual. It didn’t really matter how, only that they now lay skin to skin and Grace to Grace, Castiel somehow feeling more himself than he had in months.

When Dean slid into him, Castiel felt the bond between them open wider than it ever had before, the thin barrier between their Graces hovering, wavering. The edges between them blurred as he dug his heels into Dean’s lower back, finding the low scar that seemed sometimes like it had been placed there for him to grip onto while Dean thrust into him.

“Dean!” he gasped, pushing against their bond, willing it to widen. He wanted Dean to feel this as he felt it, or as close as he could with only borrowed Grace. This time, Dean didn’t pull away, struggling to hang onto his humanity, straining to keep their union within the bounds of what he understood, instead surrendering himself utterly to his mate, and the bond blossomed wide open, utterly free.

Dean gasped, unable to discern where he ended and Castiel began simply because there simply was no longer a line to divide them. Castiel’s Grace _was_ his own, and his was Castiel’s, and whatever they were made of, be it light, fire, or something more...they were the same. In the midst of it all, a tiny star bloomed between them, fiery and beautiful, burning against his eyes, painful and yet so very loved.

_Pii olora adpvrgel._

Dean burned against the edge, so very close to falling over when he heard Castiel against what might’ve been his ear, if he were still in his own body.

 _No_ , Castiel’s voice spoke not in words, but in song, and Dean understood. _If we only have days left, I am going to make them last for years._

\--

Bartholomew and Zadkiel sat on the living room floor, Simon between them, a slurry of colored pencils covering the floor, mixed with crayons, and what might’ve once been paint. The two angels shared a look, then returned to watching the three-year old as he finished a drawing of a mountainside bathed in flame.

“You’re lucky you’re deaf, you know that?” Bartholomew mused.

Simon beamed up at him then yawned widely. “ _Brgda_.”

“Of course, little one.” Zadkiel tugged Simon to him, and the boy curled up in his lap.

“Bzzz.” Simon yawned, holding out his hand. Zadkiel looked up at Bartholomew and pointed to the stuffed bee at his feet.

“He wants Buzz.”

“Oh.”

Bartholomew bent and picked up the bee, carrying him to Simon. As he tucked the stuffed bee under Simon’s arm, his wings brushed against Zadkiel, sparking. Both angels froze, staring at the other, until Bartholomew reached out, brushing his fingers along Zadkiel’s primary feathers, and Zadkiel groaned softly.

“Mate,” Bartholomew whispered, then sank to the floor next to the two, wrapping an arm around Zadkiel’s shoulders as the smaller angel curled against his side.

“ _Zir aai,_ ” Zadkiel murmured, resting his head against Bartholomew’s shoulder.

\--

In the wake of Yellowstone finally collapsing in on itself and ceasing its constant roar, and strange forces cleaning up the ash and helping survivors, it was easy not to realize just _how_ quiet the world had become.

Sheriff Jody Mills found herself directing National Guard troops into the city, telling them what areas were hardest hit as the skies cleared and the ashfall slowly stopped. She said a silent prayer of thanks to Cas and his angels, hoping they were all safe.

As Yellowstone quieted, no one noticed how the seas had stopped churning with ever more violent waves, or the seemingly endless drought in Saudi Arabia ending with a sudden downpour, or the snow in South Africa drifting away. The Earth was righting itself, but why? 

Deep, beyond the Earth, another place was quiet, quieter than it had been in centuries. In the darkness so stifling that few could bear it, an anguished cry was heard as an ancient bond was finally severed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **  
> Original Characters  
> **  
>  "http://winpiestiel.tumblr.com/post/50419362218/original-characters-of-savior-from-left"  
> "http://winpiestiel.tumblr.com/post/50419907541/knights-of-hell-in-savior-top-from-left"
> 
>  
> 
>  **Enochian**  
>  _Pizin cnila caosgon. Cnoqvol adrpan coraxo._ \-- “A torment of blood be to the Earth. O you servants of mercy, cast down the thunders of judgment and wrath.”  
>  _Pii olora_ \-- “She is of man.”  
>  _Pizin noco iad._ \-- “Torment the servant of God” (canon spell used in episode 5.17 “99 Problems”)  
>  _Teloch...noco iad._ \-- “Death...the servant of God.” (proof that proper grammar can be the difference between life and death)  
>  _Pii olora adpvrgel_ \-- "She is of man and of fire."  
>  _Brgda_ \-- “Sleep”  
>  _Zir aai._ \-- “I am you.”  
>  (source: http://www.sinleb.com/enochian/index.php)
> 
>  **French**  
>  _Cette creme se ramollit les cheveux, je suis sur que votre amant apprecieront._ \-- “This cream softens the hair, I’m sure your lover will appreciate it.”  
>  _Oui, il sera tres certainement_ \-- “Yes, he most certainly will.” 
> 
> **Elvish**  
>  _Mai'tril_ \--Death dancer


	10. Call to Arms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ze/Zis/Zim are gender-neutral pronouns that Samael uses to refer to zimself. Other characters refer to zim as 'she.'

__

The helicopter blades sliced through the ashen air, the massive amounts of rock and sulphur gas being expelled into the air making flying almost impossible, but the pilot had a job to do, and that was to get an accurate picture of what the volcano was doing. He got as low as he could, surveying the open vents and feeding back information to FEMA, but something caught his eye that definitely shouldn’t be there.

_“Sir, you’re not going to believe this, but it looks like there are people down there...I see three...no, seven...no...this is crazy but it actually looks like there’s some type of battle going on down on the mountain’s surface. There appear to be plumes of black smoke and they’re going against the wind, changing directions almost...intelligently. I’ve never seen anything like this.”_

He didn’t have time to turn when one plume of smoke came directly towards the helicopter, engulfing the machine. The rotors locked, and he felt the helicopter beginning to drop, but it was the least of his worries as the black smoke was now forcing itself down his throat. Fight as he may, the smoke entered him and consumed every part of him, rewriting his thoughts until he was locked down in a tiny part of his own mind as this creature took over his body. He only had one moment to scream before the helicopter hit the ground.

* * *

 

It is common belief that God created the world in seven days. While not entirely accurate, it does give the corporate elite a subliminal suggestion to peddle to their workers, serving the exact opposite of the common phrase “Rome wasn’t built in a day.” ‘If God created the world in seven days, you can finish that report by tomorrow.’ Cruel, but a functional means of exacting the most from one’s employees. The truth was, God didn’t create the world in seven days, or seven weeks or years. Seven is an abstract idea that didn’t exist at the time of the Earth’s creation. Time was relative, and more or less under the control of those who chose to recognize it.

God created archangels on a Thursday (some like to argue this fact, but mostly it was Thursday because God said it was), and it was Thursday again. It was raining, the first healthy rain since the Yellowstone supervolcano had ceased its shouting, but the ash was gone, cleaned up by otherworldly forces.

In New York City, a young reporter from Utah shared her footage with a friend of hers at CNN. Within three days, the images of ‘angels’ had more than fifteen million views online. More footage poured in, shaky pictures, eyewitness accounts, but what was more frightening were the non-shaky pictures, the hastily shot videos on cell phones, and a long ignored fandom peeking out of the shadows to urge people to get anti-possession tattoos and stock up on salt.

But for all their sudden realizations and the few truly intelligent ones stocking up on guns and researching angel lore, no one human truly knew what was coming for them.

The world wasn’t created in seven days, but it would end in seven.

* * *

“I miss the stars.”

They were laying on their backs, staring up into the darkness, nothing to orient themselves but each other.

“I remember when Father was creating them. He would just...point at the sky and they’d appear. We thought they were just lights at first, until he tooks us to visit them. These massive creatures of fire and light, and planets oriented around them. That was when I first realized just how awesome my Dad was.”

“Man, that really makes a baseball game sound like crap.”

Their laughter echoed through their own empty halls, and one reached for the other, sliding their hands together. He shuddered at the cold of the stone, so she rolled onto her side, pulling him close. He curled into her warmth, content.

* * *

Erik hated the shops.

Jake watched him carefully moving among the crowd, determined not to touch anyone unless absolutely necessary, long fingers clutching the basket desperately. For a man who had lived almost his entire life listening to the tales on the whispers of the brook, chasing the moon and catching the wind, he took to city life exactly as one would expect. Jake knew the man’s only saving grace was the toddler he had cradled in the same arm that held the basket. Bristol was their mystery child. She had the darkest hair, in contrast to Erik and Clara’s fine, golden hair, so that made her Jake’s. But, whereas Jake and Clara both had hazel eyes, she had Erik’s stunning blue. She was obviously Clara’s, since Clara had given birth to her and they’d both been present, so they had decided that God had somehow granted them a child with all three of their gifts.

In their world, when spells and magick could turn a mountain into a frog, it didn’t seem all that unlikely.

Jake started out of his reverie to see Erik looked completely stumped by the mounds of cantaloupe in front of him, so he moved over to rescue him. Bristol smiled down at him from Erik’s shoulder, her fingers entwined in his husband’s long, golden hair.

“I don’t understand the necessity of markets.” Erik grumbled, and Jake laughed lightly, taking the basket from him.

“Fine. Babysit, or go dig for roots.”

The light above them flickered and they both stopped, looking up at the offending fixture. Both of them immediately looked around, eying each shopper in the queue.

“Christo.” Erik said firmly, but in the bustle of the market, the Latin went unnoticed, and no one even lifted their head. Bristol began determinedly trying to feed Erik a raspberry.

Jake shrugged, and they moved on. It wasn’t until they were walking back to their flat that lightning streaked across the clear blue sky, and Jake felt Erik tense beside him.

“Two signs in one day, that isn’t a coincidence.” Erik whispered almost defensively, and Jake shifted the bags in his hands.

“Lightning in a clear sky...could be natural...” He muttered miserably.

“Could not be.”

Jake looked around, trying to see if anything felt different on their quiet street. He closed his eyes, and reached out, feeling Erik move to stand in front of him protectively as he cut himself off from the physical, and reached out to the surreal.

“There’s a dark cloud to the east.” Jake murmured. “And it’s spreading...it’s spreading everywhere.”

He opened his eyes to see both Erik and Bristol looking at him, their eyes wide and soft. Erik’s lips had condensed into a thin line, his brow furrowed and he had a hand resting on Jake’s upper arm, holding him steady.

“The world...the whole world will rise,” Jake whispered just before he collapsed.

* * *

“I’m uncertain as to why you continue to seek formal counsel with me, sister.”

Gilda’s boots were soft on the earthen floor of the King’s formal council chamber, despite the fact that it gleamed and glistened like glass.

The moment she had entered the throne room, the king had sighed and stepped down, beckoning her to the side where they entered the private chamber. He lifted the silver crown from his head and set to to the side, a few fiery red hairs floating in the air before resettling into place.

“What do you ask of me?”

“I come to you formally, Obren, because I have a formal request, not such that can be made between brother and sister.”

“Then talk of it with me now, as brother and sister, and the king shall see what he can do.” Obren pleaded, gesturing for her to sit. “You have asked nothing of me since asking that I spare the life of the criminal you returned with, which I did.”

“And he will make a lovely tree, and learn patience with it.” Gilda said softly. “You are a  king, and my request is not made lightly. I ask you to lead our army to the plane of the humans, and assist humanity in its plight.”

Obren frowned, sitting next to her. “Our people have not fought in a war in many centuries.”

“Peace is our greatest gift, and is it not our way to share that which we find precious?” Gilda countered. “The humans face an adversary now that they cannot defeat on their own.”

“How do you know this, sister? Does your lover come to you asking for aid?”

“She does not have to ask.” Gilda said firmly. “Do you not feel the cloud spreading over the Axis?”

Obren's gaze somehow managed to be both fond and alarmed. “You have always been better tuned to the Axis than I am, sister. My way lies with words and swords, and you find yours in the dark stars.”

Gilda laid her hand over his. “Then place my request before the Elders. They will know that we must act.”

* * *

Dean knew it probably wasn’t the wisest thing to do, laying in bed all day when there was a war going on, but the knowledge that any given day with Castiel could be his last was now firmly etched into his brain. Their bond hadn’t wavered from the day barely a week before when they had pushed it open, and Dean could feel Castiel’s Grace warm against his own, ever present and strong. Between them was the tiny star that Castiel told him was their fledgling. He could sense it, feeding on his Grace as well as Castiel’s, and he couldn’t help but smile, pressing a kiss into Castiel’s hair.

The soon-to-be archangel was fast asleep, snoring lightly. In his arms, their son was curled up, Buzz tucked comfortably in his arms, pressed against Castiel’s chest. Though Castiel’s wings were on an alternate plane from the boy, Dean could just see the outline of them, curling protectively around their son.

“I love you.” Dean whispered, and Castiel murmured a quiet, if sleepy, assent.

Dean lifted his head when the door opened, but relaxed when he saw the tell-tale dark spirals of Ireul’s hair. She came in, nodding to him, and he nodded in return. Ireul had been the one who explained why Castiel had collapsed before.

_“When an angel’s Grace splits to reproduce, its mate must compensate for the reduction in Grace. The fledgling needs both your Grace and his Grace to grow and thrive. If you separate from them, then the fledgling will try and draw all that it needs from Castiel.”_

Ireul was carrying a small glass of water, and Dean smiled as the soft blue glow around it, recognizing it as holy water to help stabilize Cas’ Grace.

“So weird.” Dean murmured, causing Ireul to pause. “Holy water glows. What the hell.”

Ireul smiled, resuming her walk around the bed to Castiel’s side. Castiel opened his eyes slowly, mentally groaning and Dean smiled, kissing Castiel’s shoulder and they both helped him to sit up.

“How are you feeling today?” Ireul asked as Castiel accepted the glass from her.

“I’m moulting, my Grace is split, I have an angel hyped up on steroids putting my family in the crosshairs, and a prophecy older than time to fulfill. How do you think I feel?” Castiel grumbled, sipping his water.

“Ada, brgda.” Simon grumbled, crawling from Castiel’s lap into Dean’s.

“I know, I know,” Dean smiled, pulling Simon into his arms. “Ada needs to brgda.”

“Ada brgda if Ireul didn’t wake him.”

“You can go back to sleep once you finish your water.” Ireul said softly, but sternly. Castiel tugged his legs up against his chest, glaring at Ireul over his glass. Dean couldn’t help but laugh, earning a glare from Simon.

“He really isn’t a morning person.” Dean shrugged, and Ireul smiled, taking Castiel’s empty glass as the angel fell back onto the bed and pulled a pillow over his head.

“The people who like mornings just have their internal clocks tuned to the afternoons of other worlds.” Castiel replied and Ireul smiled, lifting Simon from Dean’s arms, bouncing him until Simon was laughing and giggling brightly, squirming and speaking a gibberish mix of Enochian and English.

“How’s the fort?”

“Still waiting on Crowley and Gabriel to report back, but you know there’s a time difference.”

Dean nodded, running a hand over his face. “What about Sam and Bobby? Any word?”

Ireul shook her head, and Dean sighed. “Shit, I hate feeling this helpless.”

Castiel reached for his hand, squeezing it gently, and Dean felt his wing curl around him. “They’ll be all right. Have faith.”

Dean nodded, and laid back against Castiel’s chest. Simon squirmed in Ireul’s arms until she set him down on the bed and he crawled up to lay between them, sighing happily.

* * *

 

Sam didn’t know why he expected Purgatory to be safer than Hell. When they’d pushed through and slid the boulder back into place, there was a single moment of relief. Christian sagged in his arms, and Bobby turned to Sam, his lips parted with instructions that never made it past his lips as a snarl erupted behind Sam.

Christian scrambled out of his arms, and Sam grabbed the Knife from his jeans, spinning, one arm coming back to protect Christian. Bobby had his black sword in hand, and as they turned to stand back to back, the first vampire came over the crest. It paused, however, grinning, and soon they were surrounded by nearly two dozen vampires.

“Well shit.” Bobby groaned, and he and Sam moved at the same time, lashing out. A few heads rolled before Sam found himself on the ground, three pairs of hands on him and he shouted as he felt fangs in his shoulder.

They were ripped away a second later, and Sam stared in surprise as the female vampire that had bitten him was held aloft by her hair by a dark-skinned vampire who looked incredibly familiar.

“You want to piss him off? You know the rules!”

Sam frowned, struggling against those that held him. Rules?

“Right.” The female vampire wiped her mouth, getting to her feet and glaring at him. “Tastes like crap anyway.”

“Hey!” Sam huffed as he was hauled to his feet, looking over to see Bobby receiving the same treatment.

The dark-skinned vampire who’d pulled the female off of him laughed, smiling at Sam. “Hey, Sammy. Bet you don’t remember me.”

Sam frowned, his brow furrowing until the sadistic eyes clicked in his memory.

“Gordon. What are you doing here?”

“You killed me.” Gordon grinned, sharp teeth slashing at his gums. “Purgatory isn’t all that fun, but there’s a new god in town. Order in Hell of all places, and he wants to see you two.”

“A new god?”

“He who was taken to Earth and sent back to lead us, praise him.” The female said firmly.

“Praise him,” the others echoed, but Gordon just shrugged at their confused looks.

“Earth is like Heaven down here, most been here so long they don’t remember they used to live there too.” Gordon explained, smirking at the look on Sam’s face. “He changed it all.”

“What about the kid?” Sam heard a strange voice behind him, and Christian whimpered.

“He’s with us.” Bobby gruffed. “We ain’t going nowhere without him.”

Gordon grinned, looking back at the young boy.

“Well, he’s part human. Might as well bring him along.” Gordon winked at Sam when he swallowed nervously. “The new god has a thing for humans.”

Gordon stepped away, and Sam nearly fell as the vampires shoved Bobby and Christian into him. Bobby wrapped an arm around Christian’s shoulders, and they followed Gordon into the darkening landscape of Purgatory. Sam reached back, finding Christian’s hand, the young boy walking between the two hunters. The vampires seemed to relax as they moved, a few of them wandering off until there were barely four guarding them. Bobby stepped up, leaning over to Sam’s side.

“Who do you think this new god is?”

Sam set his jaw, frowning. “There’s only one vampire I know that got out of Purgatory.”

Bobby’s eyes widened slightly, then he nodded. “Well, we’re humped.”

Gordon led them through the untouched terrain, through brush and brook alike, and it felt like they had been walking for hours. After the fights in Hell, Sam was all but dead on his feet, stumbling several times to his captor’s chagrin. Bobby soldiered on with a stubborn look on his face, and Christian was crying silently, clinging to Bobby’s hand. The trees began to thin, though it seemed to only get darker, the sun barely glimmering beyond the tree cover above.

The forest abruptly ended, and Sam stared in surprise at the ramshackle town that appeared, a grey ruin of a town that seemed as if someone had simply drained the color from it as this world had been drained of life.

“Your god can’t give you a decent place to live?” Bobby grumbled, and Gordon shrugged.

“Any place to live is more than what we had. Our father abandoned us, and our mother disappeared...” Gordon replied, oddly complacent. “When she finally returned, you killed her. We were lost. Then came the Great Reckoning, called forth to battle by the angel, Castiel. I mean, we were inside an angel, part of him, infused into his Grace. We were incredible, powerful, _purposeful_ , and they destroyed it all.”

“They?”

As they walked, Sam listened, and frowned at the houses in varying states of repair. They seemed to be built by someone who had once had a vague idea of what houses looked like on Earth, but had then been driven insane and/or suffered repeated head injuries. The houses teetered at odd, sometimes impossible angles, terraces jutting from rooftops and chimneys pointing sideways while smoke poured out from diagonally placed windows. Coupled with the uneven, rock-filled ground, Sam found it all turned his stomach.

“‘They?’” Bobby repeated, and Sam responded before Gordon could answer.

“The Leviathan.” Sam said quietly. “Purgatory’s in the middle of a civil war, isn’t it?”

“The Leviathan are bullies.” Gordon spat as the vampires guarding them veered off, and Sam found himself wondering if he wanted to try taking Gordon. He was honestly curious now though. “They’re powerful, but they’re few in number compared to us.”

“You just needed to get organized.” Sam said shortly, looking around at the monsters that appeared from among the buildings watching them. They all seemed washed out, lost. The three of them were the only ones in color, and the creatures watching them seemed destitute, as if it was not color, but their very life force being drained.

“The Leviathan are using the power of the souls to try and break into Heaven.”

The statement didn’t come from Gordon, and Sam and Bobby both paused, catching Christian between them as a tall vampire came out of a rusted hut. He smiled at them, with dull teeth rather than Gordon’s fangs.

“You must be Sam. Dean told me a lot about you. Taller than I expected, broader too.”

“Benny.” Sam struggled to keep his voice level, and didn’t move when the vampire extended a hand to him.

“I see there’s still some bad water between us.” Benny said softly, and Sam almost thought he sounded remorseful.

“You look like my teddy bear.” Christian said suddenly, and Benny laughed, smiling down at the kid.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve heard that one before.”

Benny turned, waving them inside the hut. Sam didn’t mean to follow, but Christian skipped forward, disappearing into the darkness with Benny, and Sam set his jaw. He shifted his weight for a moment, listening to the soft rustle of the curious eyes around them. He missed the safety of Gabriel’s warmth, and Bobby had pulled Crowley’s black blade again before they both entered the small hut.

It was noticeably cooler inside, and surprisingly more homey than Sam had expected. The floor was swept and there was a patterned rug on the floor where Benny and Christian were now sitting.

“It ain’t much,” Benny drawled. “But the Chompers don’t like the ground here.”

Sam nodded, and Christian patted the ground next to him, smiling up at them both.

“Sit!”

Sam slowly sat down next to Christian, and Benny gestured to the sole chair for Bobby, who gratefully took it. Christian moved next to Sam, leaning against his side.

“You used Dean to get back on Earth and then murdered innocent people.” Sam suddenly snapped, and Benny sighed, dropping his head.

“Nah, that weren’t me,” Benny said slowly. “That was a young twit who wanted me to join his gang, and I refused, so he framed me for a few deaths, knowing I had a tail.”

“And how do we know that’s true?” Bobby challenged, and Benny gave a small smile.

“You’re still breathing, ain’tcha? I ain’t holding ya hostage, I just wanted to chat. To ask for a favor.”

“We’re listening.” Sam said quietly.

“I ain’t gunning to get out of Purgatory anytime soon,” Benny said, rolling his shoulders. “But the Leviathan...they’re aiming to bust out through Heaven. There’s a mountain in the center of Purgatory where souls can claim penance and work through to Heaven. The Leviathan have taken over it, and they’re doing their damndest to claw their way out. From Heaven, it’s a short jump to Earth.”

Sam laughed weakly. “I hate to say it, but we have way too much on our hands to help out down here.”

Benny raised an eyebrow, and Sam shrugged. “An angel, Samael, is trying to kill Dean and Castiel and a friend of ours named Crowley, all in an effort to free the archangels Michael and Lucifer from their Cage.”

“Well shit.” Benny breathed, and Sam nodded.

“That’s what our days have been like, and why we’re here.” Sam said simply. “We just had to help reinstall Crowley on the throne of Hell so we’re not fighting two fronts at once.”

“My plan had been to ask Feathers to maybe get some of his angel buddies to lock the door, but I guess we’re off to Plan B.”

“What’s Plan B?” Bobby asked, and Benny shrugged.

“Let ya know when I think of it.”

* * *

 

“Those twats.”

“You did tell them to remove the key from your office.”

Crowley sighed, kicking the burned out rubble of his office. Gabriel was smirking at him nearby, and Crowley felt like pelting a rock at his father.

“Yeah, I forgot about the failsafe though. If they lose it in Purgatory, I swear...”

“Hm, let’s see.” Gabriel teased, walking over to lean against Crowley’s side. “My boyfriend and your boyfriend are backpacking through Purgatory with a demi-demon secretary and the key to all supernatural lore known to man. What could possibly go wrong?”

Crowley flicked a pebble into Gabriel’s ear. “Everything, but more importantly, how do I turn Hell into an army of demons willing to fight and die against Michael?”

“Well,” Gabriel shrugged, flicking his wrist so Crowley’s office restored itself around them. Crowley stepped out of the way of the self-reconstructing walls, glaring at his father. “I don’t think it would be much of an issue getting them to want to fight against Michael. It’s getting them to be willing to fight alongside angels, and they won’t like being confined to Hell afterwards.”

“Maybe we can make Hell less...Hell-ish?” Crowley muttered, glancing over his books to make sure they were all there.

Gabriel frowned, pulling down a book and flipping through it. “What’s something they want?”

“Freedom?” Crowley sighed, flopping down into the chair behind his desk. “But we can’t just let them run rampant on Earth.”

“Nice meatsuit.” A voice came from the doorway, smirking. Crowley sat up, grinning.

“Whore!”

Meg smiled, sauntering into the room. Gabriel frowned, fighting the urge to flair his wings at the strange demon. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Meg.” She answered calmly, hopping up to sit on Crowley’s desk. “Managed to break out of the holding cell this bastard had me in during the riots. And I missed all the fun too.”

“What do you want?” Gabriel asked, stepping up to put himself between the demoness and his son.

“Easy, Papa.” Meg purred, leaning back on her hands, causing Crowley to snort with disgust. “I figured I might help out, since one way or another, the Cage is getting opened.”

“That’s not happening.” Gabriel snapped, and Meg grinned.

“Oh, baby, it is. Whether it’s Nicolai’s back-stabbing angel-friend or our own precious Clarence, someone’s opening that door. Now that Crowley’s all clean and shiny, and the Knights have been whipped back into shape, I think we might have a fighting chance against His Royal Doucheness.”

“How precisely do you plan to unite the demons then?” Crowley interrupted Gabriel’s aggressive flair, and to give her credit, Meg looked duly frightened as the archangel’s wingspan surrounded them.

“Not unite, precisely, but we might be able to get them to saunter vaguely into battle. You know, at their own pace.”

“The plan?” Crowley repeated, folding his hands in front of him.

“You’re a stick in the mud.” Meg said simply, jumping off the desk so she could turn around and lean forward, her hands on the desk before her. “You may be King of Hell, but Lucifer is god. How many angels would follow Michael if God said he was a dick? Run the play that by fighting with the angels against Michael, you’re fighting on Lucifer’s side. Then when the Cage gets opened, let the pieces fall where they may.”

“The Cage isn’t getting opened.” Crowley replied, and Meg shrugged.

“That’s one way the pieces could fall. Either way, you have your battle force. You wouldn’t have anything to worry about, as I doubt Mike and Lucifer are going to harm their baby brother’s bastard.”

Gabriel shifted at the indirect reminder, fighting the urge to go to his son’s side and once again remind himself that he was there and he was alive and safe. Crowley, however, seemed to be in his element.

“What’s in it for you?” Crowley continued, leaning back.

“I get the opportunity to shove an angel blade through your skull once Lucifer turns Michael into angel chow, and I want the open spot at the Knight’s table.” Meg said with a smile.

“You want to take Kerberos’ chair?” Gabriel spoke in disbelief.

Crowley smiled, both impressed and taken aback. “You really think you’re the right person for the job?”

“Figured I’d help Tzipporah even things up. Us girls should stick together.”

“You’ll need a new name. ‘Meg’ doesn’t have quite the ring to it, and I’m not having another Stanley on board.”

“I’ll figure something out.” Meg smiled, licking her lips. “So are you in or are you out?

“Duel at midnight then.” Crowley returned her smile. “Not sure I trust you.”

“Not really asking you to trust me, now am I?” Meg grinned, Crowley leaning forward as she did. “Deal, your Highness?”

“You’d really make a horrible crossroads demon,” Crowley purred, and Meg shrugged.

“You’re still going to kiss me.”

“With displeasure.”

Meg grabbed Crowley’s collar, pulling him up into a kiss, and neither of them expected the sudden click and flash of light.

“Oh, this is so going on Twitter.” Gabriel grinned, tapping away at his phone. Meg blinked, fighting back a smile.

“I see where you get it from.” Meg teased, and Crowley pushed her off his desk.

“Go cut Kerberos’ ring from his cold finger and rally the forces, shrew.” Crowley huffed. “The world isn’t on hold for you, and Castiel’s counting on us.”

“Ah, the unicorn.” Meg shrugged, slipping her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “I’ll have an army for you, Highness. Don’t you worry your shiny new head about that.”

She was gone a second later, and Crowley pulled out a handkerchief, wiping his mouth carefully before pulling out a bottle of scotch and pouring himself a glass. “That taste will never come out, I swear. There’s a reason I don’t kiss my own kind.”

Gabriel smiled, looking up from his phone. “You’re not a demon anymore, Malachi. But...can we trust her?”

“She’ll bring the sentient beasts.” Crowley murmured. “But the Knights...”

He reached behind him, pulling down a heavy tome and Gabriel’s eyebrows rose, regarding the ancient Enochian inscribed around the edges of the stone cover. “Is that...”

“Oh yes. There’s are things far more old and terrible in the Deep.” Crowley murmured.

“If you say a Balrog, I will hit you.”

* * *

 

The light of Heaven was dim, barely a shadow compared to its normal brilliance, with so many of its indigenous residents away on missions. The sound of Samael’s wings rustling agitatedly was the only one to be heard in the empty hallways. Cold corpses littered the floor, more than half of them with their throats slashed wide. On the desk was a goblet of blood, ancient runes and sigils inscribed into the wood around it, red-tipped feathers resting lightly on the surface, but not a ripple could be seen.

Samael had done everything ze could think of to reach Michael, and nothing, not even the barest whisper was coming through. For decades following his incarceration at the hands of the Winchesters, ze had followed his every order. Intent, waiting, determined...hiding behind the flag of Raphael and then leading zis own flagship against Castiel, ever following orders.

Now there were no orders. Samael sank into the chair, pulling zis injured wing to zis side, running a hand over the now bare places where ze had pulled his own feathers out to increase the spell’s strength.

If there was nothing else, ze had the orders Michael had last given. Bring the Last Nephilim and the Great Seraph to kneel at all costs.

At all costs.

* * *

 

Sam did his best to pass over all the knowledge that he had on the Leviathan, and they discovered that the reason the Leviathan avoided the monsters’ town was because the bedrock underneath was full of borax crystals.

“Did you ever try injecting them with borax?” Benny asked, and Bobby shook his head.

“Never really got that close. Can’t see how it wouldn’t hurt though.”

Benny nodded. “Dean always cut their heads off, but we found out fast that won’t kill’m. We done took to burying the heads in the bedrock and burning the bodies. Now I think we just might give’m a good cleanin’.”

“Look,” Bobby said slowly. “I sent that tail after you. So...I’m sorry.”

Benny shook his head. “I didn’t belong up there. I belong here, and I’m doing some good with these here people. Purgatory ain’t pleasant, but it ain’t got to be Monster Hell.”

Bobby nodded, scratching his beard. “I might sell my kingdom for a bath, though,”

Sam was sitting in the shade next to Christian, watching the young boy work with his cell phone. It, unsurprisingly, was out of range, but Christian said he could make it work like Crowley’s, given some time. He’d taken the ancient coin that Crowley had given them, and cut it into several pieces which he then began wiring into Sam’s phone. Sam himself had dozed for a while, exhausted, but now he stretched, sitting up and peering at the boy’s work.

“So…” He started slowly. “How did you end up downstairs? I mean, you’re just a kid, aren’t you?”

“Yeah,” Christian said softly. “My little brother was dying. He had, um, a cancer in his blood. I could never say it right. This guy came to me at the hospital one day, said he could save my little brother if I promised to give him my soul in ten years.”

Sam gaped at him in disbelief. “I can’t believe a demon made a deal with a kid.”

“That was before Crowley took over.” Christian said easily. “His Majesty has a strict rule that all clients must be of drinking age to sign a deal. But anyway, I sold my soul, and about three days later, I was hit by an ambulance in the hospital parking lot and died. My brother miraculously recovered, and Crowley picked me out of the lines before I got put on the rack. Made me his secretary. The rest you know.”

Sam nodded, tucking his knees up and laying his head on his arms. There was a quiet breeze over the plains, and it was surprisingly peaceful, a hint of sea air on the wind.

“So, you fix that, and we can call Tessa for a ride home?”

“You can,” Christian said softly. “I think I’m going to stay here.”

Sam lifted his head, looking at Christian, his brows dipping. Had he done something wrong?

“I’m just a soul,” Christian continued, not looking up from the phone. “I’ve never taken a meatsuit, and I don’t really want to. I can stay here, and help Benny.”

“Christian…” Sam murmured, and Christian smiled up at him.

“Hey, maybe if I’m good, I can even make it to Heaven.”

Sam smiled after a moment. If anyone deserved it, Christian did, but he already missed the boy.

“I bet you will.” Sam wrapped an arm around his shoulders, squeezing, and Christian laughed.

Christian leaned forward and Sam smiled, watching him work, and a few minutes later, Christian gave a triumphant cry, holding the phone up as the screen began blinking, showing three bars in the corner.

“You’ve got to be shitting me…” Sam grinned.

* * *

 

Jody went to work as always. There were still clean-up crews and rescue parties to organize, because no one wanted to say aloud that everything had already been taken care of by the ‘other-worldly’ visitors that were showing up on the news. Jody herself knew better than to tell anyone that the command center for those special friends was her own house.

Zadkiel was sitting at the table with Simon, playing with him as Simon ate his sandwich, and as much as Dean wished he could be the one giggling with his son, he knew there was no safer place for him to be than with the angel. Castiel had recovered now that they were sharing their Grace freely, and Dean felt proud to actually be doing something to help.

“We need to organize a strategic center for defense,” Castiel was saying. “Right now, we’re waiting on Samael to attack.”

“We need to make her come to us,” Briathos replied. He was an angel Dean had only met a few days before, but Castiel had quickly made him his second in command. Dean wasn’t complaining. The brawny angel had brilliant silver wings that contrasted with his vessel’s dark skin, and his Grace told him of all the battles Briathos had led and won. If there was anyone he wanted next to his mate, protecting him, it was Briathos.

“Have Inais take Ragziel and Puriel to seek out a place where we can make our stand,” Castiel said calmly, but Dean felt the wave of nausea spreading over him, and moved to stand next to him, wrapping an arm around his waist. Briathos nodded to him, and he felt Castiel’s gratefulness through their bond.

“His Will be done.” Briathos inclined his head, and Castiel nodded in return.

“His Will be done.”

When Briathos was gone to deliver Castiel’s orders, Castiel turned in Dean’s arms and curled against his chest. “I’m so tired,” He murmured.

Dean wrapped his arms around him tightly, curling his new wings around him as well. “I know, babe. We’ll get through this.”

Castiel nodded, lifting his head, but before he could respond, there was a loud pounding at the door. Dean frowned as they both turned towards the front door, and Castiel nodded to Ireul. She moved forward slowly as Zadkiel lifted Simon. The moment the door opened, however, a lean and very familiar teen came sprinting through, though he was hardly a teen anymore. He was flanked by a purple-haired woman, her light skin made paler by the dark eyeliner and crisp haircut. Both of them were carrying hefty duffel bags.

“Kevin?” Dean exclaimed, waving at all the alerted angels for them to stand down. “We thought you were dead, what the hell happened?”

Kevin dropped his duffel on the table, running a hand through his hair, which was much shorter than the last time Dean had seen him, minutes before he’d headed in after Dick what seemed like a lifetime ago. 

“Crowley tried to get me to translate the Demon tablet for him, but I stole it and went underground. This is Carrie, she’s a telekinetic. Like the movie, but with less blood.”

“S’up,” Carrie nodded and Dean stared blankly at her before shaking his head.

“How the hell did you find us?”

“It wasn’t easy,” Kevin sighed, grabbing a Coke from the fridge and passing one to Carrie as well then they both collapsed into the nearest chairs. “If you’d warded against _any_ means of supernatural tracking, we never would’ve found you, but since we’re human, we were able to find a really old finding spell. Unfortunately, it made us run nonstop all the way here. We’ve been going for days.”

Castiel’s eyes widened, looking to Ireul, who nodded and placed a hand on both of their heads, healing any damage the spell might’ve caused. Kevin smiled up at her, nodding in thanks.

“Okay, you found us. You must’ve been pretty desperate, what’s up?”

Kevin smiled at Dean, and patted the duffel bag. “I have, here, full translations of both the Angel and the Demon tablets. The actual tablets are stored somewhere ultra safe.”

“Think Pandora’s Box, Cradle of Life safe,” Carrie interjected.

“Okay…” Dean sighed, picking up the angel book and thumbing through it before handing it to Castiel. “What the hell are we supposed to do with this?”

“There aren’t many spells that don’t take out, you know, all angels,” Kevin shrugged. “Guess God isn’t that selective. Sorry, Cas,”

“There are spells in here for blessing weapons against angels, and some additional warding.” Castiel murmured, taking his time through the book, though Dean could feel his frustration.

“There’s something in there about Feles Alata? I thought that might be…”

“I forgot about them!” Castiel exclaimed, putting the book down, open to an unmarked page, and turned, glancing about the kitchen.

“Wait…what are Feles Alata?” Dean asked, turned as Castiel circled the kitchen.

“Correctly, they are called ‘balzarg,’” Castiel explained, taking a marker from Ireul, and kissing Simon’s forehead as he passed. “Which means ‘stewards’, but you can equivalate them to angelic Hellhounds.”

“Angelic...Hellhounds?”

“Do you realize how often you repeat things?” Castiel asked, briefly pecking Dean’s lips, and Dean blustered wordlessly. “Yes, but they’re actually large cats.”

“I got that from the ‘feles’...” Dean muttered.

“They’re about the size of human horses, they can see in any kind of light, and can only be damaged by angel blades, or extreme forms of dark magic. The path to their home was lost to us after Lucifer fell, but…”

Castiel smiled as he pointed to the open page. “Here it is.”

“See, I knew it’d be useful.” Kevin grinned. “By the way, hi Cas, glad you’re not crazy anymore.”

Castiel smiled at him. “Thank you, Kevin. I am glad to see you are well also. Ireul, please attend to Kevin and Carrie, see that they have a place to rest and recover from their travels.”

Ireul nodded and shepherded the two out, and Zadkiel carried Simon into the living room, bouncing him lightly. Dean smiled at the two, then looked over at Bartholomew who was looking at their world map and trying to determine the best place to scry.

“So...you and Zed?” Dean grinned, and Bartholomew smiled up at him.

“Yes,” Bartholomew nodded, spreading his hands over the map. “And if it were not for you, I would never have met him. I thank you.”

“You two got plans for after this all blows over?” Dean asked as Castiel whirled about the kitchen, grabbing different things and talking mostly to himself as he worked out the spell.

Bartholomew straightened, smoothing out his jacket, blushing slightly. “Zadkiel has expressed his wish for a fledgling.”

“Kids? Already?”

Bartholomew nodded, barely able to hide his smile. “We look forward to returning home, and to a peaceful kingdom where we can raise our fledglings in harmony.”

Dean smiled, clapping the angel on the shoulder. “Me too, Bart. Me too.”

* * *

 The alabaster comb eased through her curls under the practiced hand of her preferred maid, and Tzipporah hummed contently, leaning her head back, sweat beading on her bare skin. Of course, Bela wasn’t just her maid, she was also one of the best crossroads demons since Crowley himself, and a beautifully attentive lover.

Her long fingers thread through Tzipporah’s blood-red locks, folding the strands into an elegant braid, and then Tzipporah sat up, turning on her stool to face Bela, cupping her face in her hands and drawing her up for a kiss. “My pretty Bela,”

Bela smiled up at her, curls framing her face, and Tzipporah kissed her again.

There was a knock at the door and Tzipporah scowled, standing and slipping her dress back on, looking back to see that Bela had wrapped her shawl around herself before she opened the door.

“Arnon, Htori,” Tzipporah smiled. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The two Knights stepped inside her chambers as she stepped back, delicate black tulle falling from her arm as she swept it out to the side, inviting them in to her warmth. Warmth was a frightfully treasured thing in Hell. It was always either too hot or too cold, never comfortable.

“I believe you know,” Htori said simply, pausing to look pointedly over at Bela as she slipped behind a dressing partition. Tzipporah glanced over before she waved a hand dismissively, sitting back on her bed and inviting them to sit. Arnon and Htori sat on a pair of chaise circling Tzipporah’s bed, and behind them, Bela dressed and slipped out silently.

Tzipporah watched Bela go, then sat up, running a hand back through her hair. “What are we going to do about Crowley?”

“I believe his given name is Malachi.” Arnon said softly, the firelight glinting off his silver hair. He was the only one of the Knights that showed any kind of age, and the only one Tzipporah could remember from before. “Not that what we call him really matters. The point is that he’s a Nephilim, and the claimed son of the archangel, Gabriel. The demon who calls herself Meg has descended and appears to be rallying others for a war against Heaven, promising Lucifer’s rise, and she carries Kerberos’ ring.”

“She thinks it’s that easy?”

Tzipporah laughed. “She’s nothing, we can take that ring from her easily.”

“It’s not the ring that concerns me.” Arnon said simply. “I think we need to decide with which side we will ally.”

“We’re demons,” Tzipporah countered. “We side with Lucifer.”

“What can Lucifer offer us?” Arnon frowned, sitting forward, his body relaxed as he made his case. “To be the rulers of a broken and burning world? An enslaved Heaven? Are we so old that we have forgotten the Axis?”

Both Tzipporah and Htori straightened up, and Arnon nodded. “The Axis will right itself, and we are powerless to stop it. The choices we make now will determine if we survive this war.”

“What can Crowley and his ally, Castiel, offer us?” Htori asked.

“The Nephilim and the cherub…” Tzipporah muttered, and Arnon looked up at her.

“Castiel…Castiel can offer us wings.”

* * *

 

The sun never really set, though it would seem to get darker at times, and lighter at others. It never rained either, but the streams never dried up. It could drive a man mad, but Bobby had been mad for years, so he wasn’t too worried about it. Once, a long time ago, he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t miss anyone ever again. The loss of his wife had simply been too much, and he felt that there was no way he could love anyone or anything again. The pain had consumed him, and there was nothing left in him to love.

Then an old friend and new enemy showed up with two small boys, asking if he could watch them for a few days. Bobby said yes. Not because he wanted to help the man, or because he was too thrilled about having two snot-nosed kids on his hands, but because he looked in the backseat of that black car and saw a young boy with his arms wrapped around a toddler. He held him like nothing else in the world mattered, and Bobby lifted the two together, carrying them inside.

Over time, both boys got bigger than him, and he couldn’t carry them anymore, but it still felt like it. He loved them, and he missed them when they were gone. Even when he promised himself that he wouldn’t.

And then...then someone came along that turned everything he knew in the world on its head, and did it with a smile and a glass of scotch.

For the first time, he thought about the fact that he was an old man. While everyone around him was supernatural in some way, he was still plain old Bobby. He'd be lucky if he had ten more years tucked under his belt. He was living on borrowed time already, since Crowley wrangled him out of Purgatory. What was ten years to a being who had lived for thousands?

How bad off would Crowley be when he died?

"Bobby!" Sam came running up the hill to the rocks where Bobby had stationed himself. He was flanked by Christian, who was beaming. Sam held the phone out to him, panting slightly.

"It's working."

Bobby snatched the cell phone from his hands, seeing the three red bars and he instantly dialed Crowley's office number. "Pick up, dammit, please pick up."

Crowley and Gabriel were in the middle of drawing a full-room summoning circle when the phone on Crowley's desk began ringing, the chimes echoing through the hallway. Crowley was on his feet in an instant, picking it up.

"Bobby?"

Bobby smiled, lifting his hat to run a hand through his hair. "Hey,"

Crowley grinned in relief as Gabriel bounded up. "Let me speak to Sam!"

"Hold your horses,” Crowley huffed, holding his father at arm’s length, turning his attention back to Bobby. “Are you okay? Where are you?”

“We’re fine.” Bobby answered, unable to hide a smile. “We’re stuck in Purgatory though.”

“Then why are you calling me?” Crowley snapped, mouthing ‘Purgatory’ to Gabriel. “Call Tessa!”

“Well, forgive me for making sure you ain’t dead,” Bobby huffed.

Crowley sighed, shaking his head lightly. “Sorry, love. It’s wonderful to hear your gruff drawl once again,”

“Idjit,” Bobby shook his head, smiling. “If your pop is anything like the young’un bouncing next to me, they’re gonna blow a gasket if we don’t let’em talk to each other soon,”

“Yeah, here’s Gabriel,” Crowley smiled, handing the phone off while a world away, Bobby rolled his eyes and handed the phone to Sam.

“Gabriel?!”

“Sam.” Gabriel breathed, closing his eyes in relief. “How are you?”

“None too worse for wear,” Sam said softly. “You?”

“I’m perfect.” Gabriel smiled, glancing back at Crowley who’d gone back to finishing the summoning circle. “I was just about to head back topside once Mal finished up down here.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah, Tessa’s next on our list of people to call to get a lift out. Benny says the Leviathan have taken control of the portal Dean used, but they can’t use it, so it’s moot,”

“You had any trouble with them?”

Sam shook his head, toeing the ground. “No, but Benny and the others are. Benny’s the vampire that helped Dean…”

“Yeah, I know,” Gabriel nodded to himself. “Contrary to popular belief, I had half an eye on the two of you back then.”

“The Leviathan are trying to break into Heaven.”

Gabriel closed his eyes, sighing. “That _shouldn’t_ be possible, but who freaking knows what state Heaven is in with Samael running things?”

“Is there anything we can do?”

Gabriel ran a hand through his hair, turning and watching Crowley for a minute. “Tell Benny that I’ll run upstairs and make sure everything’s locked up tight, and maybe alert a few back up troops.”

Sam blinked, frowning. “Isn’t that dangerous? And where’re you going to get back up troops from?”

“There are a lot of hunters in Heaven, Sammy,” Gabriel grinned.

* * *

 

Castiel apparently needed more than a dozen things to make the portal to cross over into the realm of the Feles Alata, and Dean refused to let him out of the warded house, so Castiel had sent angels after the ingredients. There were a few reports of attacks, but mostly it was silent from Samael’s end. Dean didn’t like the feeling of a calm before the storm, but for now, they were okay.

His angel was resting on the couch, a heating pad on his stomach, and Simon curled up beside him, drawing. Zadkiel and Bartholomew were both nearby, keeping an eye on their leader and their prince.

Dean smiled, fighting the urge to go to his family, and instead heading down the hall to knock on Kevin’s door. The young Prophet was quick to answer, and Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“How good are you at hacking?”

Kevin smiled, shrugging as he flopped down on the bed. “Um...probably better than I am at translating. What do you need?”

Dean sat down next to him slowly. “I need to broadcast a video.”

“Okay, where to?”

“Everywhere.”

* * *

 

It was 7:00pm on a Friday night in New York City when the big screen at Times Square flickered, and a man appeared on scene. The same image appeared on every television in the Midwest and along the East Coast, in several cities in Europe, Asia, and even in Sydney.

Erik was just handing Jake a cup of tea when the telly flickered, and he sat down, taking his husband’s hand and squeezing it.

Missouri Mosely stopped in her evening shopping to look at the store television above the register.

Charlie Bradbury cursed violently at her screen and at Dean Winchester as it happened to interrupt the Doctor Who marathon.

Then Dean began to speak.

_“My name is Dean Winchester. Some of you may know me, but most of you don’t. Everything I’m about to tell you probably won’t make much sense, but every single word is true. Humanity is in danger. Throughout our history, special people called hunters have fought against supernatural forces to protect our way of life. So that parents can tell their kids there’s no such thing as the Boogeyman, and no one worries about Edward Cullen sneaking into their bedroom after sunset. In the more recent years, the hunters weren’t enough to protect humanity. We got help. Help from angels, from demons, from...things you can’t even imagine. My point is...we’ve gotten help from everywhere, and now there’s a force we can’t fight on our own. Now hunters...angels...all of us...we don’t go broadcasting our existence, because...hey, you’d probably think we were crazy...but right now, I think it’s time that humanity got the chance to fight for itself. Angels have died because they thought humanity was worth protecting. I’ve seen good men and good creatures die to protect humanity. Isn’t it about time we show them we prepared to defend ourselves? There’s a douchebag out there right now named Samael who thinks humanity is a shitstain on the universe, and wants to wipe it out and start fresh. We’re the defense force. It ain’t much. We need help. We need **your** help. This battle is going down whether you take me seriously or not, but if you don’t, I can pretty much bet you...the world won’t last much longer. But if you believe me, or if you’re willing to take the shot in the dark, and look at all the evidence...you don’t have to call a number. You don’t have to give out your credit card, social security number, or first born. All you have to do is pray. Pray to the angel Bartholomew, and say...I want to help. An angel will be with you shortly to answer all of your questions, and if you’re ready to fight...we’ve got a place for you.”_

Dean sighed as the red light on the camera went off, and Castiel quickly hugged him.

“Think they’ll buy it?” Dean breathed, squeezing him.

“I’m getting prayers,” Bartholomew answered for him. “New York City, Philadelphia, Raleigh, Miami...I think some are just doing it to see but…”

“Take the garrison,” Castiel said quickly. “Get an angel to each prayer. It’s time humanity had its faith rewarded.”

Dean tilted Castiel’s head up, kissing him lightly. “Maybe...maybe I might learn to have some faith in them.”

* * *

 

 


	11. Recruitment

The candlelight shone in the darkness like a beacon, a pinprick lighthouse, and even then, her Grace was exhausted. It wasn’t much, just a simple table with a simple white cloth, and something that resembled food. She’d never really practiced this sort of magic before, and she found herself wanting to tear it all apart and give up on the matter altogether.

“Is that all for me?”

She shrugged, her wings fluttering nervously around him. “I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I’m pretty sure the human protocol for first dates is dinner.”

“Dinner and a movie,” He smiled, sliding to her side. “Are you saying you want to...date me?”

“Does it need saying?” 

“But I’m human.”

“Yeah…”

“And you’re an angel.”

“Obviously.”

“So...you sure you want to be shacking up with a mud monkey?”

“.....I cooked.”

“Sort of.”

“Shut up.”

\--

_There was darkness, only darkness, and every path he took only lead him further into despair. Agony spread through every limb, and he might’ve begged for it to stop if he didn’t know that begging would only urge the bitch on. He could feel the blade cutting through tendon and muscle and nerve and he clenched his jaw._

_Casdontcomedontcomedontcometrapitsatrapdontcomeiloveyoudontcome_

_“Bitch, you know how long it took me to grow those?!” He shouted when he wanted to scream._

Sam woke up with a cry dying in his throat, and Bobby was up in an instant, blinking blearily in the darkness, but Benny was at his side first.

“You okay, brother?”

“Dean!” Sam gasped, struggling against the vampire’s grip, and light flooded the cabin as Bobby turned the lantern up. “Dean, Dean is in trouble, Dean…”

“What about’im, boy?” Bobby asked, his words slurred, heavy with sleep.

Sam stared forward into the darkness, the vision stark and clear in his mind, even as details washed away like water through his hands.

“Dean…” He repeated softly. “Dean’s in trouble…”

“Yer gonna be topside soon,” Benny promised, a steady hand on his shoulder urging him to lay back down. “It’ll be all right. Yer brother is good at looking after ‘imself,”

Sam nodded and laid down, curling up against the warmth of Bobby’s back. Yes, Dean was good at taking care of himself. It was when he had to take care of others, that his own worth got put on the back burner, and it was that of which Sam was afraid.

When he woke again, it was light again, and Sam noted that he’d gotten used to the washed out colors of Purgatory. The cabin was empty, and he stood slowly, stretching his arms above his head.

Today was it. His last day in Monster Heaven. Tessa had said she’d be on her way, but avoiding the Leviathan would take an extra few days. He knew Dean had to be freaking out, but he trusted Gabriel to get the information to him. Crowley had said that he and Gabriel would be heading north as soon as they could. Benny had promised him a few men to help with security, as the portal into Purgatory from Hell that Gabriel had described was ass deep in the Leviathan’s claimed territory.

Sam felt exhausted, but he had to keep going. He took a deep breath and pushed out into the daylight. The camp was unusually busy, as most of the various creatures tended to keep to themselves. Now they were packing up their meager belongings, the ones that Sam had come to recognize as Benny’s soldiers were all carrying various weapons. Since Sam had told them about the way to kill Leviathan, they were all packing sharpened bones. Crowley and Gabriel had both promised blood. Benny had them gathered from the north side of the mountain that overshadowed the camp, but no one was sure how the bones had gotten there..

It was to the mountain that Sam looked now. He knew that just beyond the camp was a coal-colored stone archway, leading the way into a rocky path barely visible through the fog. Benny called it the ‘Road of Penitence’ and Sam remembered his Virgil, thinking of the levels of Purgatory and the levels of Hell. Hell had changed quite a bit, but Purgatory? Purgatory’s upheaval had only come in the last few years, after Castiel and Crowley’s little stint. The mountain was still the safest way out of Purgatory, though they’d have to face the mountain’s perils. The levels of Purgatory, the seven sins that every soul must face on the path to Heaven. Tessa said she had another way, but Sam was hesitant. He didn’t trust Tessa like Dean did.

“Sam,”

Sam turned to see Benny coming up the hill and smiled, taking the vampire’s hand to help him up, Benny’s advance impeded by the heavy pack he carried.. “Are you sure you can’t come with us? I know Dean would be happy to see you,”

Benny shook his head, turning his head back to the people below them. “I ain’t gonna be that kind o’god,”

Sam nodded, and Benny held the pack out to him. “Give this to your angel. More bones. Once the angel and the Nephilim meet up with you, you can paint’m,”

“Thank you,” Sam replied, a softness in his voice, and Benny nodded, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Your pap is down by the river. You should git going before the sun goes out on us again,”

Sam nodded, giving the mountain one last look. Today was going to be his last day in Purgatory, but who knew how long this day would last?

* * *

In all honesty, Dean didn’t expect his little stint with the public service announcement to amount to anything. Maybe thirty seconds on the eleven o’clock news, but he was unaware of how the Internet had been exploding with speculations about the so-called ‘angel’ sightings. With his announcement, people only got the confirmation they wanted that something was going down. Something major.

Some people went to church, and others went looting, but most? Most began to pray.

Within the first half hour, Castiel had to send out a dozen angels to families. Within two hours, they didn’t have enough angels to make house calls, and began communicating through cell phones, radios, email, and television sets. Dean couldn’t help but grin, even going so far as to lift Castiel into his arms and twirl him about happily.

“Talk about having faith.” Castiel had laughed, kissing him softly.

They’d lost several followers due to the ‘unnatural’ nature of their relationship, though that had only made Dean and Castiel nearly come to tears of laughter. Because, in the end, the fact that they were two dudes in an established relationship was the only normal thing about them.

Still, with the extensive number of people beginning to populate the area, Jody insisted on moving the ‘headquarters’ from her kitchen to the police station. It reminded Dean briefly of the time that Lilith had sent her demons to pin them down, and had ended with those poor innocent people dying.

Dean started out of his memories to the press of Castiel’s lips against the top of his head, and he sighed, looking at the map spread out over his desk. It was hard to hide what they were doing, but angels had surrounded the entire city with warding sigils, so Samael could only go off of what she’d seen before they were protected.

“We have three thousand now,” Castiel murmured into his ear, and Dean laid his head against Castiel’s side.

“It’s not enough,” Dean replied softly. “Nowhere near enough. An angel can take out that many solo.”

“Perhaps not,” Castiel slid a hand through his hair. “A young gentleman named Jesse came up with the idea of tranquilizer darts filled with holy oil. Inais volunteered to be shot, and they mostly just disoriented him, but it’s something. We also have banishing sigils, and the weapons that Kevin and Carrie are preparing.”

Dean nodded, pressing his face into Castiel’s deceptively flat stomach. None of the human forces knew that Castiel was pregnant, and since it didn’t show on his vessel, Dean hadn’t found a way to bring it up. In the face of the war, it didn’t seem that important, but even now, he could feel their child’s fragile new Grace reaching out to him.

“Cas…”

“No, Dean,” Castiel said gently, sliding a hand through his hair. “There is no other way.”

Dean felt the tell-tale prick of tears in his eyes, and took a slow breath, forcing the pain down past the wall in his throat. He looked up at Castiel, his eyes shining even in the low light.

_I love you._

Castiel leaned down and kissed him in response.

“Sir,”

Dean sighed and pulled away, turning back to the map so Inais could tell Castiel whatever he needed to hear. But seconds later there came a voice that made him forget all about his woes, even if just for a minute.

“Dean!”

Dean spun, his eyes wide, right before he was tackled by a tiny redhead. “Charlie!”

Charlie laughed, wrapping her arms and legs around him as he lifted her up. “Sup bitch!”

Dean couldn’t help but laugh, clinging to her, loving the sense of normalcy that she seemed to exude, the nostalgia of times long past. But those had been the times before Castiel, and before Simon. No, he was very happy. At least, he would be after this whole war was over. He wanted to introduce Charlie to Simon, and soon he wanted to have a big family cookout to celebrate their lives together. The peace they’d found, but they had to win it back first.

“You remember Gilda?” Charlie smiled, and Dean grinned at the Fae standing behind her. She nodded to him.

“Of course, I remember,” Dean laughed, holding his hand out to Gilda. “I don’t think we ever properly met. Dean Winchester.”

“It is a pleasure to formally meet you, Earthking,” Gilda said softly, squeezing his hand in both of hers. “I’m sorry to say that I’m alone. The Council of our nations decided not to join the war on Earth, despite its direct threat to the Axis.”

Castiel closed his eyes, and Dean moved quickly to get an arm around his shoulders, pushing his Grace towards his mate. Castiel straightened again after a moment.

“We still have Kerrik and Ezrys.” Castiel whispered, leaning heavily on Dean, though Dean made it look like they were simply standing close together. “The portal to Ethalieh is almost finished.”

“I will accompany you to Ethalieh,” Gilda said firmly. “My people have been friendly with the Balzarg for many centuries.”

Castiel nodded, smiling weakly at the Fae princess, and he reached out, touching her shoulder. “I offer you my utmost gratitude for taking our plight before the Fae Council, even if it did not turn out as we hoped. Samael had a formidable force, but we have Fate on our side. I had only hoped we might conquer her with minimal loss of life.”

* * *

The sun was blinding overhead, and Sam’s watch had quit working after they came through the portal from Hell. His new cell phone said it was ‘26.39pm’ so Sam made no real effort to try and figure out what time it was. He only knew they’d been walking since 22.12. Bobby laid a hand on a nearby tree and sighed, pausing to rest.

“Where’s that Reaper?”

“I don’t know,” Sam looked around, the sun having bleached the color from the world, and the grayscale was making his eyes hurt. “She said to meet her in the shadow of the mountain, and the sun hasn’t moved. Do you think we should head for that portal Benny told us about?”

“It’s smack in the middle of the Chomper territory,” Bobby pushed himself up, gripping the black blade Crowley had given him. “And I don’t want to stay in one place too long. We’re already skirtin’ the edge.”

Sam nodded, shifting the bag on his shoulders again, and he nearly jumped out of his skin when his cell began buzzing.

“Tessa?”

“ _Sam! I’m being followed. Do you know the river east of the mountain?”_

“Yeah, we’re not far from there.”

_“Meet me where the shadow meets the river. I’ve got to lose this tail, but I’ll be there.”_

“Okay.” Sam quickly ended the call and pulled his own machete out. “Come on, Bobby, let’s go.”

Bobby nodded, taking off after Sam at a dead run, muttering under his breath. “Damn those long legs…”

* * *

“Are you sure you know where you’re going?” Erik complained, shifting the pack on his shoulders. Jake had refused to get into one of the many cabs speeding people away from the airport, and Erik had been too happy to trek across the cities. They’d been walking most of the day, and Erik was clearly frustrated, but Jake was following the trail of another psychic. He wanted to meet up with her before trying to find the Winchesters.

Dean’s broadcast had come to him in a dream. He didn’t recognize his face, but he knew the name. Jake was a Campbell, the son of one of Mary Winchester’s cousins. That made Dean family, as far as he was concerned. Clara stayed back in London with the baby, as she had no experience hunting, and their little girl was not quite three yet.

“Yes, I know where I’m going.” Jake sighed, reaching back to take his husband’s hand and pull him up onto the road. “We’re almost there.”

Erik nodded, sliding his sunglasses off the top of his head as they cleared the trees, and Jake immediately spotted the house he wanted. He couldn’t quite _see_ it yet, but he knew it was there. Erik yelped as Jake took off running, following as fast as he could. He was swearing by the time Jake skidded to a stop, then climbed the peeling white porch steps to take the hand of an elderly black woman.

“Miss Missouri?”

A bright white smile broke her face, and she took her hand in both of his. “It’s good to see you again, Jakie. You’re here to answer Dean’s call?”

Jake nodded. “I don’t know where he is though, and my husband’s nervous about calling the angels.”

Missouri nodded, stepping back inside to get her bag and keys. “We’ll take my Cadillac.”

* * *

When Jody had left her house, she didn’t have a basement. But one day, when she returned from the office, there was a new set of stairs she didn’t remember. Going down them, she found a small crowd of angels, all working steadily around the map table. On the far end of the new room was a wall painted with sigils, and Castiel was there with a new visitor, both of them inspecting the wall, though Castiel looked quite pale.

“That’s Gilda, Charlie’s girlfriend.” Dean grinned, having suddenly come up behind her.

Jody wrinkled her nose, looking up at him sternly. “Are you drunk?”

“No, just exhausted. I can’t sleep.” Dean staggered slightly.

Jody shook her head but took his hand, pulling him back upstairs. “I’m going to make some coffee and you’re going to drink some of it. No good having the new leader of the rebellion falling asleep on the job..”

“M’not,” Dean protested, following sheepishly. “Not a fearless leader.”

Jody smiled as she pushed him into a chair, setting the coffee pot to brewing. “Never said you were fearless, sweetie, but you know how to put on a brave face. That’s enough.”

Dean nodded, slowly letting his head rest in his hands. He didn’t say anything. There wasn’t really anything to say. Just as the coffee pot beeped, there was a crash from the front of the house, and Dean felt his Grace perk up at the familiar presence of another Nephilim. Just as a diminutive archangel came bursting into the kitchen with a broad grin.

“Who missed me!? Oh, stop your sobbing, I know you all did.”

“Gabriel,” Dean said fondly, and let the archangel sweep him into a huge hug.

“Hey Dean-o! Where’s our fearless leader?”

Dean flinched, but stepped back out of Gabriel’s arms. “He’s downstairs with Gilda and Ireul. They’re preparing a portal to...to the place where the cat-things live.”

Gabriel frowned up at him for a minute, then pushed past him, jogging downstairs. His presence was soon replaced by Crowley, though it took Dean a minute to recognize him. He still wasn’t used to the new vessel.

“How was Hell?” Dean grinned, accepting his coffee from Jody and sitting back down before he fell over. About that time Charlie came in, grabbing Jody for a discussion about the security of police scanners.

“Oh, you know, the usual.” Crowley grinned at him. “Little dark, little gloomy, and as always, full of dead people.”

Dean grinned, shaking his head. He grabbed the coffee pot and poured Crowley a cup, the Nephilim gratefully sinking down at the table.

“I made a deal with Meg to get more recruits.” Crowley muttered. “I don’t want Castiel to know. He has enough on his mind.”

Dean nodded without hesitation. “Thanks. He doesn’t say anything, but he’s really stressed. And with the baby on the way…”

Crowley blinked. “Wait, what?”

Dean looked up from his cup. “We didn’t tell you? Cas is pregnant.”

He watched the color drain from Crowley’s face. “Well, shit.”

Dean nodded slowly. “I try not to think about what would happen if Samael found out.”

Crowley leaned forward, folding his hands and setting his chin on them. “What about the recruits? How are they taking a pregnant male angel?”

“We’ve lost a few,” Dean shrugged, leaning forward and resting heavily against the table. “Most figured that there are worse things than gay angels.”

Crowley slowly stood. “I’m sorry, Dean. I need to take Castiel to Hell with me. There’s something I need to show him.”

“Okay.”

Crowley frowned, and Dean just sighed, letting his shoulders sag.

“I’ve come to terms with the fact that Castiel has to fight this war, and there’s nothing I can do to stop him. If whatever you’ve got will help win this war, then do it.”

Dean jumped at the feeling of Crowley extending a wing to his, and for a moment, he was uncertain how to respond before he realized this was an angelic equivalent to laying a hand on his shoulder. He raised his wing to Crowley, and for a moment he could feel Crowley’s Grace brushing soothingly against his.

“Remember, we’re all in this together, Dean.” Crowley said softly. “I’m not going to leave Cas standing alone at the finish line.”

“You better not.” Dean murmured. “The prophecy says you two have to be standing together. If you hightail it off somewhere and something happens to Cas, you better start running. Because I will find you.”

Crowley grinned and cuffed his head with the edge of a wing. “There’s the Dean Winchester I know and love.”

“Bite me.”

 

“Hello Gabriel.” Castiel said wearily, and Gabriel gave his brother an annoyed look for spoiling his surprise. Castiel merely stood, looking over the portal, his wings sagging nearly to the floor. He held himself upright, but Gabriel knew better. He couldn’t believe this was the tiny fledgling he had carried to the Garden so many eons ago.

“Hey bro,” Gabriel said softly. “How’s it hanging?”

Castiel smiled back over his shoulder at him, stepping back so Gabriel could see the extent of the portal. “How does it look?”

“You’re going to Ethalieh?”

Castiel nodded. “The Balzarg swore an oath to Michael, and he betrayed them.”

“Kerrik’ll probably turn you down.”

Castiel nodded again, stretching his wings as he turned. “It is not Kerrik whom I intend to implore.”

“....Ezrys then.” Gabriel smiled. “You always were the smart one.”

“Ezrys has a fondness for humans, and she does not hold grudges like her mate does.” Castiel murmured. “I only…”

The fledgling archangel stumbled suddenly, and made his way to a chair, sinking down wearily. Gabriel followed, his wings trembling nervously as he tried not to fuss. Castiel sighed, resting his head in his hands. “My Grace is so unsteady since it has split. I’m not sure I have the strength to travel between worlds, and I fear what effect the Void might have on the fledgling.”

Gabriel took the announcement in stride, having been able to see the extra stress Castiel’s Grace was under. He reached in, gently sharing some of his own with Castiel, and for a moment, Castiel seemed to perk up. He looked up at Gabriel gratefully, but soon tears had filled his eyes, and he curled into Gabriel’s embrace, trembling violently.

“I’m so scared, brother,” Castiel gasped. “I don’t know how I’m going to make it through this, or what will happen to Dean if I don’t.”

Gabriel found himself nodding, sinking down to wrap both his arms and wings around his baby brother. “I’ll take care of him. Sam and I both will. I promise.”

Castiel lifted his head once more, pressing backwards into his brother’s embrace, his hands gripping Gabriel’s arms tightly. Before he could speak, however, Dean came running down the steps.

“Cas? Cas, what’s wrong?”

Castiel stood and stepped away from Gabriel, falling into his mate’s arms and soothing his worry. “Just had a moment of weakness, that’s all. Gabriel was here to assist me.”

Dean nodded, mouthing thanks to Gabriel as he gently rocked Castiel in his arms. Castiel, instead of protesting Dean’s coddling, simply relaxed against Dean’s chest, closing his eyes. Gabriel smiled at them, his thoughts with Sam in Purgatory. After a long moment, Castiel pulled back, lifting his head to kiss Dean lightly, and then he turned back to Gabriel, drawing himself up once more.

“Are you aware of the situation in Purgatory?”

Gabriel nodded. “The Leviathan are trying to break through to Heaven now that they’re loose. The vampire known as Benny is leading the monsters against them.”

“Benny?” Dean breathed, then broke into a grin, rocking happily on his feet. Castiel reached back and squeezed his hand.

“Gabriel, would you mind going to Heaven and making sure that the gates between Purgatory and Heaven are sealed? We’ll handle it after this situation with Samael, but for now…”

Gabriel winked. “No problem.”

“Please be careful,” Castiel warned. “We don’t know how many forces Samael has left in Heaven, though I’m certain she’s not paying attention to Purgatory.”

“I’ll be in and out,” Gabriel grinned at them both, pinching Castiel’s cheek and earning a shy smile from the fledgling. “Don’t want to miss my Sammy’s homecoming.”

* * *

They’d been following the shadow of the mountain until it stretched across what Benny called the Great River. Supposedly, this was where souls first crawled out of the darkness into Purgatory, though Dean hadn’t said anything about it. Though, he and Castiel hadn’t entered Purgatory through what one could call normal means.

Sam paused at the edge of the river, looking around for Tessa. Bobby leaned against a nearby tree, trying not to appear as winded as he really was, and their journey was far from over.

“Sam?”

Sam spun around at the sound of his name, and smiled as Tessa materialized from behind a tree. She looked bloody and beaten to hell, but he still rushed forward and hugged her tightly.

“Thank God you’re all right.”

She smiled wearily, squeezing his hand. “Come on, we still have far to go. We can’t go back to the portal where I brought you through the first time. The safest way out is going to be up the mountain.”

“Won’t we have to face the seven trials?” Bobby murmured, drawing closer to them.

Tessa nodded. “I will do my best to shield you from them, but it’s likely you’ll have to face them on your own. With the Leviathan stalking Purgatory, it’s still the safest route.”

Sam nodded, looking up at the formidable mountain. “Where do we go from here?”

“We follow the shadow to Penance Road,” Tessa said shortly, then eyed their blades. “Keep those up. The Leviathan fear the shadow, but who knows?”

Sam and Bobby both nodded, and Tessa took a deep breath. “Let’s go.”

* * *

 

Getting into Heaven was easy enough. The majority of Samael’s forces was spread out over the Earth, trying to find Castiel, so Gabriel’s presence went unnoticed. None of them were beyond the Courtyards, so Gabriel skipped up to where the Garden should’ve been, but it wasn’t. Gabriel bit his lip, but then trailed south past the Library to the Halls and the Nursery. Both were empty, but it was here that all points converged between the different universes. Some doors along the halls were portals, others simply led to parts of Heaven where different things were done. Interrogation, study, training, battle planning...Gabriel sighed, his quick step slowly to a heavy walk.

It had changed so much.

The last time he’d been here the Halls had been full of angels, seraphim and cherubim alike. There had been dozens of fledglings in the Nursery, and the Library was the busiest place in Heaven, full of angels recording their experiences on Earth and on other planes, and the select few who recorded the words of their Father.

Now, there was no one. He could feel the presence of the humans’ ‘heavens’ as starkly as if they were right next to him, and they shouldn’t be. The power and might of his brothers and sisters should have kept them at bay, acting as buffer between them and the might of God. Not like it mattered anymore. God wasn’t here.

Gabriel finally forced himself to leave the Halls behind, heading to the South Gate where those who walked Penance Road and climbed the mountain of Purgatory were welcomed home. It wasn’t as grand as the North Gate, the one that was spoken of by the Prophets, but it was grand nonetheless, spires of alabaster crystal reaching towards the endless sea above them. It was here that the angels’ blades were forged, of the same alabaster crystal that dotted the landscape.

Beyond the Gate, the mountain rose, a distant shadow. The Veil wavered between Heaven and Purgatory, and Gabriel stepped through the Gate, peering into the darkness, shimmering like sheets of silver glass. He took a deep breath, then turned and walked back into Heaven. He pulled the Gates shut, speaking a few words, and massive chains stretched across the Gate, locking it firmly shut. He continued for a minute, laying down spell after spell of protection. When he was finished, he smirked, stretching his great wings.

“All right, you dickheads,” He grinned. “Get through that.”

 

* * *

 

The further up the mountain they got, the heavier the very air seemed to be. It wasn’t very steep, but Sam was already having to use his hands to keep himself moving. Only Tessa seemed unaffected. Bobby had stopped swearing nearly half an hour ago, and Sam knew that he was barely keeping up.

No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t stop thinking about everything he’d done wrong in his life. Leaving Jessica, trusting Ruby, setting Lucifer free, losing his soul, leaving Dean in Purgatory for a year...he wanted to curl up on the mountain sand and sob. All the things he’d said to Gabriel those months ago. It wasn’t fair to him, it wasn’t fair to anyone.

“I’m sorry,” He heard Bobby whisper behind him. “I’m so sorry.”

Penance Road was aptly named.

“Come on!” Tessa urged from ahead, but when Sam lifted his head, he couldn’t see her.

“Tess?” he called out, falling to his knees. He thought he heard something, but it faded. “Tessa!”

He looked around as a dark fog began to envelope them. “Bobby, stay close!...Bobby?”

Alone. He was alone. He’d failed them again. Dean, Castiel, Gabriel...he’d never see any of them again. It was better this way, they didn’t need him.

Sam watched as the fog rose from his knees to separate into tendrils, coiling around his wrists and his throat. He made no effort to fight it. It didn’t matter. All he had to do was lay down and sleep,sleep forever in the arms of darkness.

Was this the first Sin? He couldn’t remember. What were the big Seven? It was so much effort, and he didn’t want to try. Why were there so many sins? Wrath...Pride...Envy... _Sloth._

Sam shouted, shoving himself forward. He couldn’t get to his feet, but he could crawl. The black tendrils grabbed at him, but he pushed at them, fighting. They shattered under his touch, dark shards that cut at his palms, but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop.

“Bobby!” Sam gasped, but his voice squeaked, the tendril around his throat growing tighter.

He managed to get his feet underneath him, pushing up. The darkness stretched, but could only stretch so far. Sam wrenched himself up, and the tendril snapped, slicing his throat open. He staggered, pressing a hand to his throat to try and stop the bleeding. He cast about, eyes scraping the darkness until he saw Bobby and he lunged over, grabbing Bobby’s hand. The old hunter was unconscious, and Sam dug his feet into the shifting ground beneath him, dragging Bobby behind him as he pushed up the mountain until the fog finally faded behind them.

As soon as the fog was clear, Sam suddenly managed a huge breath of air, his throat healing instantly and Bobby shook himself, sitting up.

“What happened?”

Sam smiled, looking up the mountain. “One Sin down, six to go.”

Bobby groaned as he got to his feet, shaking himself off. “Where’d she go? Tessa?”

“Probably somewhere ahead of us. Let’s keep going.” Sam reached into his bag, pulling out a length of rope. “Also, probably good if we lash onto each other.”

Bobby nodded and slipped the rope through his belt, tying it off as Sam did the same. Sam shouldered the bag once more, tightening his grip on his knife as Bobby swore.

“Son of a...I lost the sword Crowley gave me…”

Sam smiled weakly in sympathy. “It’s Purgatory, I’m sure he’ll understand.”

Bobby nodded, but didn’t stop grumbling. “He made it himself…” 

Sam fought the urge to shrug, pulling Bobby up, and the elder hunter sighed but nodded to himself. They pushed on, and when the fog started creeping back, this time it was a murky gray, and Sam mentally groaned, reaching back for Bobby. Bobby took his hand without hesitation, and Sam took strength in the warmth of his surrogate father. He knew that he and Dean wouldn’t have made it half as far as they had without him, without all the help of their friends.

The fog tried weakly to attach to his legs, but Sam just pushed on through, giving no more effort than it took to walk through deep water. It faded away almost as fast as it had appeared, and Sam looked back at Bobby, frowning.

“Neither one of us has issues with Pride, except maybe having too little of it,” Bobby said simply, shrugging, and Sam might’ve laughed if it hadn’t been so true.

 

* * *

 

“I can’t, Crowley,” Castiel begged once more, struggling not to drop his head into his hands. Crowley swore, swinging his arm across the table, and Castiel flinched back, standing and immediately covering his face in his hands, taking a few steadying breaths. “Do you have any idea what the aura of Hell could do to the fledgling? Especially with my weakened Grace?”

“Then let me protect you.” Crowley said shortly, placing both hands on the table before him. “I may be a Nephilim, but I’m also King of Hell. You know full well the kind of power I can summon when I want to.”

“You’d have to fully take on the weight of my Grace,” Castiel snapped, turning on the monarch. “Both mine and my fledgling’s, and I will not allow that. Dean will not allow that. If you falter, even for an instant...”

Dean sat silently at the table between them, staring blankly forward. Crowley’s plan was simply. He had something, down deep in Hell, that could turn this tide for them, but he needed Castiel’s help to release it. He also wanted Castiel’s approval, because apparently it was a double-edged sword, whatever it was. Castiel needed to go, because beating Samael was of utmost importance. For them, the world, and their fledgling.

“Let him do it, Cas,” Dean murmured, and both the arguing angels fell quiet. “If he can support you and the kid, and keep you safe, then go. You know we need all the help we can get.”

“But…”

Dean stood slowly. “I’ll go to Etha-whatsits and talk to Ezrys. You already gave me the low-down on what you wanted to do there, and I’ll take Maharet and Briathos with me. Take Ireul with you and Crowley so she can look after you. We’ll leave Inais in charge here.”

Castiel’s arms had fallen limp at his sides, his lips parted slightly as he watched Dean, then he swallowed, slowly nodding. “You’ll have to pass care of the fledgling to Crowley. You’ll be unaware of us until we return.”

Dean clenched his jaw, but nodded, sitting forward in his chair as Crowley lowered himself back into his own seat. Castiel remained standing, his Grace twitching back and forth, pacing. He took a slow breath, then reached out, taking each of their hands in his own.

“Dean, you’ll have to let go of the bond, and let it pass to Crowley.”

“How the Hell am I supposed to do that?” Dean muttered, and Castiel sighed, leveling a low glare at him.

“Find the knot of the bond inside you, and pull it forward. Crowley will reach out, and you will share the bond with him. This will allow him…”

“Do I have to?” Dean huffed. “I mean, I’m not sure how I feel about Crowley’s Grace feeding our fledgling. No offense.”

“How is that not offensive?” Crowley rolled his eyes.

“It’s the only way I’d be able to go to Hell while you go to Ethalieh.” Castiel said softly. “Have you forgotten how little space our bond allows us apart? Particularly now that my Grace is split.”

“Then I’ll go with you to Hell, and Crowley can go to Ethalieh.”

“Dean…” Castiel sighed again, straightening up, and Dean pulled his hand away, pushing away from the table and walking away a few feet. Crowley looked between them before standing as well.

“I’m going to go...talk to Briathos...about our...fortifications…” Crowley mumbled, but neither looked towards him as he headed out of the room and back upstairs, leaving Castiel and Dean alone by the Ethaliehn portal.

“Dean…” Castiel started, and Dean held a hand up, shaking his head.

“Cas, all I ever hear from you anymore is ‘there is no other way.’” Dean snapped, his hands shaking slightly. “Don’t you remember...all the battles we fought? There was _always_ another way. There has to be a way. Something that doesn’t put you and Squirmy in harms way!”

Castiel took a step back as Dean raised a voice, but smiled after a minute. “Squirmy?”

“Yeah,” Dean smiled softly. “Squirmy.”

The angel shook his head, smiling in spite of himself. “All right, Dean. If you want to look for another way, I’m not going to stop you. But…”

“No buts.” Dean said quickly. “But let Ireul take over watching your Grace, not Crowley, okay? For me?”

Castiel nodded, closing the space between them and tilting his head up to kiss the corner of his mouth. “Of course.”

Dean turned his head, pulling Castiel more firmly against him and kissing him properly, holding him tightly. He swore he wouldn’t let anything happen to Castiel or their fledgling. He’d find another way. That’s what he was good at. Castiel groaned softly against his lips, and Dean pulled away slowly, kissing the angel’s forehead once before resting their foreheads together, his arms linked around Castiel’s waist.

“You’re so stubborn.” Castiel muttered, despite his smile.

Dean just grinned. “You know you like it.”

“Castiel?”

They both looked up as a young angel whose name Dean could never remember came upstairs. Sam-something. Between Sam and Samael, there were too many Sams around.

“Samandriel,” Castiel said fondly, and Dean mentally kicked himself. “Is everything all right?”

“Yes, sir,” Samandriel nodded, but he turned partially back towards the upstairs. “But I believe some of our new recruits are arguing about the fundamentals of faith, and we aren’t certain as to how we should respond.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Humans.”

Castiel leaned up and kissed his cheek. “I’ll be right back.”

Dean followed Castiel and Samandriel upstairs, and was going to follow them out when a hand grabbed his sleeve, pulling him harshly to the side. Dean had an exorcism on his tongue and a hand on his knife, but a hand was over his mouth before he could say a word.

“I have an idea,” His captor breathed, and Dean pulled his head back, glaring.

“Crowley, what the hell?”

Crowley rolled his eyes, tugging Dean back downstairs and pushing him into a chair. “I have an idea for keeping Castiel and the fledgling safe while we’re in Hell. We just have to trick Castiel’s Grace into thinking you’re nearby.”

Dean, who had followed Crowley down mostly involuntarily, glared up at the demon, his wings fluffing up aggressively. “Yeah, I’m listening, but why the hell did you have to drag me down here? Why couldn’t you tell Cas?”

“Because he won’t like this.” Crowley murmured, setting down a bag and pulling out a syringe and a vial. “And neither will you.”

Dean looked at the syringe then up at Crowley, swallowing hard. “Just gonna stick it in me, or gonna buy me a drink first?”

Crowley smirked, placing his hands on the table and shaking his head lightly. “I’m going to extract part of your Grace, and take it with us. Amplifying it with my own, I might be able to convince Castiel’s Grace that you’re still with him, so it won’t try to take everything it needs from him. It’ll feed off of the vial.”

Leaning forward, Dean picked up the vial, turning it in his hands. “Crowley...Crowley, is this going to be enough? For the kid to feed off of?”

“I’ll amplify…”

Dean shook his head. “No offense, but I really don’t want our kid feeding off of your Grace.”

“You know, that’s the second time you’ve said ‘no offense’ directly before offending me, but fine. If you want me to take enough to last until we get back, I’m going to need a bigger vial.”

Dean nodded slowly, looking at the vial, the way it didn’t even stretch the length of his palm.

 “Would a whiskey bottle work?”

* * *

Heaven wasn’t supposed to be empty. The last time Gabriel had been there, it was full of light and music. The flurry of wings had created its own wind, and now, as Gabriel moved through the angelic choirs to the human’s plane, he was haunted by the sound of his own mutilated wings. Luckily, he knew exactly where he was going, and descended into a Heaven he’d never entered before, but somehow, he knew exactly what it was going to look like.

He was pleasantly surprised.

Instead of a white house with a familiar couple in the days before a fire, there was a white house...and there was a couple. But there were also two boys running and playing, one almost nine, the other four going on five. Gabriel took a slow breath, and looked up to the porch to see a blond woman watching him.

The boys melted away, as did the man standing next to the woman. She was frowning, her gaze narrowed as she watched him.

“I don’t know you.”

Gabriel smiled. “I am the archangel, Gabriel, and you’re the second Mary I’ve said that to.”

 

 

 


	12. Red Wedding

* * *

 

Whenever Bobby pictured Lust, he was never quite sure what would appear. Sometimes, he imagined it was the blonde demon who’d been set free after the Hell Gate was opened. Sometimes it was his wife, and sometimes...sometimes it really didn’t have a form.

Now, Bobby was certain the hardest thing he’d ever had to do was walk away from Crowley.

It wasn’t _just_ Crowley either, it was Crowley the way he knew he was. The true Crowley, under all the hate and frustration and abuse and snark...Bobby forced himself to take another step back, further into the red fog.

“Bobby, please don’t leave me…” Not-Crowley was whispering. “I need you.”

He didn’t know how he found the strength, but he turned away from the vision and kept walking. After a while, the fog began to thin, and Bobby nearly collapsed onto a nearby rock, covering his face in his hands and sobbing weakly.

Time passed as it always did in Purgatory. The sun didn’t move, and the clouds didn’t roll, but there was the feeling of the earth shifting beneath one's feet, the air thinning with a hint of twilight. Without fanfare, Bobby rose, his hands clenching at his side, weaponless.

“Sam!” He called out against the empty mountain. He hadn’t seen Sam come out of the fog. Was he still trapped there?

There was the sound of rock crumbling, and then Sam appeared looking bloody and exhausted.

“Thought I lost you,” He said softly. “You get through Lust?”

Bobby nodded quickly. “That’s five down, only two more.”

“Great,” Sam mumbled, looking up the mountain, and Bobby followed his gaze. Sloth, Pride, Gluttony, Greed, and Lust were all behind them. Wrath and Envy were ahead. No, he was definitely not looking forward to this.

“Let’s keep going,” Bobby murmured, reaching for Sam’s hand, and Sam squeezed back tightly, leading the way.

 

* * *

 

Crowley stared at his phone, waiting for Dean to return so he could finish the ritual. He wanted to call Bobby and check on him, but in Purgatory, who knew if a mistimed phone call could reveal their location and get them both killed? He had to settle for worrying and hoping and knowing that if Bobby had been killed, at least the tracker that he’d set on him would let him know. So he took solace in knowing that Bobby was still alive, and he was pretty sure Gabriel would have let him know if something had happened to Sam.

Standing, Crowley walked over to the table where he’d prepared the ritual for bottling part of Dean’s Grace. It was going to be a messy job, but he didn’t like owing people, and he especially didn’t like owing people his life.

 

* * *

 

Castiel sent the angels in the house away to check the perimeter, to get in touch with Inais and the search for a more defensible stronghold, something...anything. He just needed them away. He wanted his mate and his child, and his brothers and his _family_. He wanted this all to be over.

He found Dean in the kitchen, and he came up behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his head on Dean’s shoulder.

“Is today over yet?” He murmured, the rhetorical question unusual to him, but he felt Dean smile.

“Almost, baby,” Dean shook the whiskey bottle he was emptying, then ran some water into it to rinse it out. Castiel lifted his head, peering over his shoulder.

“Where did that come from?”

“I hid it in my room after we decided I should give up alcohol. Then I moved it to my car, just in case you decided to go looking. Turns out, I ended up needing it.”

“But…” Castiel frowned. “You just poured it out.”

“Sober for nearly a year, I’m not giving that up,” Dean grinned, turning in his arms and pecking his lips. “I needed the bottle, not the whiskey. Crowley’s got a plan for getting you and Squirmy in and out of Hell.”

Castiel’s gaze narrowed, and he turned with Dean, taking his hand and following him downstairs. He met Crowley’s gaze as Dean handed him the bottle, and Crowley visibly blanched, turning away from the two.

“What is this plan Dean is telling me about?” Castiel asked, a hair of a growl in his voice. Crowley sighed slowly, peeling the label from the bottle and painting sigils on it in Dean’s blood, which he had collected earlier.

“Why don’t you just leave that to us, and go worry about running your war?” Crowley snarked, and Castiel seemed to swell.

“Seriously, Cas,” Dean said softly, squeezing his shoulder, and Castiel turned to glare at him. “You’ve got enough on your shoulders. Let us manage this one thing.”

Castiel stiffened, but after a long moment, his wings sank to the floor and he sighed. “I will not stop you if you feel this is best, but I’d still like to know what’s going to happen.”

“Well, uh…” Dean said slowly, tugging Castiel over as he sat down in the chair Crowley indicated. “Crowley’s going to bottle some of my Grace and take it with you guys when you bounce to Hell.”

He watched Castiel’s eyes widen and instantly knew the angel wasn’t on par with their plan, but true to his word, Castiel just closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“What if you’re attacked in Ethalieh? With only half your Grace?”

“I’ll have Briathos and Maharet with me. And I was a pretty damn decent fighter before I was half-Angel, Cas,” Dean shrugged. “You said yourself they were your heavy-hitters. I think I’ll be fine. And it’s more incentive for you and Crowley to hurry up and get back. Besides, this’ll be best for the baby. He needs my Grace, not just yours.”

Castiel closed his eyes, his head sinking to rest against Dean’s shoulder. Dean leaned over to press his lips against Castiel’s forehead, just holding there against him, comforting. He could feel Castiel’s wings trembling, and Crowley turned away from them, making as if he was double checking his spell.

“If something happens…” Castiel whispered. “I can’t lose you. We can have other fledglings once my Grace is whole.”

Dean stiffened, drawing back. “Castiel, we’re not going to write this kid off just because the timing sucks.”

Castiel’s wings jerked before falling still, as close to his back as they could be in their moulting state, and Castiel slowly nodded as he stood. He leaned down again, kissing Dean’s lips briefly.

_(I love you.)_

“Cas…” Dean started to stand, but Castiel was already heading back upstairs, his wings dragging behind him.

“Can we do this?” Crowley murmured, staring at his phone. “I have a meeting I need to get to as soon as possible.”

Dean sighed, sinking back into the chair, but he was there for maybe half a second before he was on his feet again, chasing Castiel. Crowley sighed, leaning over to watch him run up the stairs.

“So I’ll just go to my meeting then?”

“Take Jeremiah!” Dean called back down the stairs immediately.

Crowley snorted, shaking his head. “I do not need an angel babysi…”

He turned, running straight into the chest of said angel, and he sighed, shaking his head. “Nevermind. Come along then.”

 

* * *

“Cas!” Dean shouted, chasing down the angel and finding him in the kitchen where Zadkiel had Simon and a few of the other kids that had come with the human recruits. Castiel had lifted Simon into his arms, rocking him gently. “Cas…”

Castiel looked up at him, then back towards the basement door, frowning. “Where’s Crowley?”

“He had to go to a meeting.” Dean murmured. “Look, Cas….”

He watched as Castiel slid his fingers through Simon’s hair and kissed his forehead.  Dean had never thought he'd have a family, let alone one with Castiel, but the past couple of years had changed everything. He had Castiel, Simon, and friggin' wings on top of that. As much as Castiel couldn't lose him, he couldn't lose this. Not again, not after...after everything. Dean closed his eyes, unable to watch his whole world drift aimlessly across the kitchen, so strong and yet so fragile. After a deep breath, Dean gently took Simon from Castiel, and then threaded his fingers with the angel's. “Come on.”

Castiel followed him as they headed out of the house, towards the car they’d borrowed from the police department. The Impala was too much of a dead giveaway, and had been carefully concealed at the police department. Dean set Simon in the car seat in the back, buckling him in, and then he held the door open for Castiel. Peering back and forth between the car and Dean, Castiel hesitated.

“Where are we going?”

“To get married.” Dean said softly, and Castiel barked out a laugh.

“Dean, I don’t think now’s the time for this.”

“Now may be the only time.”

Castiel bit his lip, and Dean sighed, waving Cas towards the car.

“Look, you just made me quote ‘Pirates of the Caribbean’, now get in the damn car.”

Ireul suddenly ran out of the house, moving around to the far side of the car, and pulling open the back door. Dean tossed up his hands, tilting his head at the angel. She just shrugged at him.

“I go where Castiel goes. End of story.”

“Well, we need a witness,” Dean shook his head, pulling out his keys, and Castiel covered his face in his hands, sliding into the passenger seat.

“Dean…”

“Cas…”

Castiel shook his head, finally folding his hands in his lap. “Fine. Where are we going to get married?”

“Well,” Dean smiled. “If we’re going to elope, we’re going to elope properly. We’re going to Vegas.”

Looking at his mate, Castiel fought back a smile. He leaned back against the window, covering his mouth with his hand, but his eyes sparkled in the dim light.

 

* * *

Crowley didn’t like to lurk. It wasn’t his style. He made entrances, subtle, but grand in their own way. This was different. The angel next to him was radiating nervousness, but Crowley held himself tall, proud of his wings for the first time in ages. When Tzipporah appeared, the brightness of the Nephilim King was enough to make the Knight hesitate for a moment, if only just a moment.

“Crowley,” she said softly. “Or do you prefer Malachi now?”

“Only my father gets to call me that.” Crowley said easily. “You can call me ‘Your Majesty,’”

Tzipporah smiled, folding her hands within the wide sleeves of her gown. Another woman appeared behind her, and Crowley smiled at the sight of her.

“Bela. It’s good to have another one from the old country around. I was beginning to start talking to myself.”

Bela smirked at him, the contrast of her leather jacket and jeans stark against Tzipporah’s formal robes, but Tzipporah smiled fondly at her lieutenant.

“You brought an angel, so I brought mine.”

“We have a proposition for you, and it involves that ring you gave to Meg.” Bela purred, and Crowley sighed, rocking back on his heels. 

“I don’t renege on deals, ladies,” Crowley shrugged. “That’s kind of my thing.”

“We’re not asking you to renege.” Bela smiled, sliding her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “This is a new deal, following the completion of the first. Meg is building you an army in exchange for the Knight ring, right?”

“More or less,” Crowley frowned.

“You made that deal because you weren’t certain where our loyalties would fall,” Tzipporah continued, placing a hand gently on Bela’s shoulder. “Lucifer...or you.”

Crowley lifted his head, but let the silence speak for him. Behind him, Jeremiah let his angel blade fall into his hand, though the vast majority of its length remained hidden in his sleeve.

“We had a vote,” Bela smiled. “And we’re in.”

Crowley frowned, narrowing his gaze at them. “Just like that?”

“When making a choice between chaos and order,” A dark male voice answered, and Jeremiah spun, his blade drawn. Crowley raised a hand, and Jeremiah stepped back as Arnon appeared.

“The choice should be as simple as the answer.”

“When the time comes,” Htori continued from beside Arnon. “We will stand with you.”

“You know my orders come from Castiel.” Crowley said slowly. “We’re partners.”

“Castiel serves the Balance,” Arnon said softly. “So do we. Evil and Good cannot survive long without the other. Such is the way of all things."

Crowley laid a hand gently on Jeremiah’s arm, the young angel looking nervous at being in the presence of so many powerful demons.

“If Lucifer rises, we will fight with you.” Tzipporah continued.

Slowly, a smile rose onto Crowley’s face. “Not sure I trust you.”

Arnon chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s all right, Malachi. You are young, but you are very wise for your age. It will be my honor to serve you.”

“Our honor,” Tzipporah said softly.

“Just let me drive a stake through Meg’s heart, and I’ll be happy.” Bela smiled, and Crowley smirked, leaning over to pat her cheek.

“It’ll be your honor.”

 

* * *

The television flickered in the false light of the office space she had taken up residence in, and Samael folded her arms over her chest, her brow furrowing at the images as she watched. After a minute, one of the angels stepped forward to cut the TV off and turned to face her.

“So this is their call to war?” Samael smiled, shaking her head. “They dig their own graves.”

“What are your orders?”

Samael lifted her head and stretched her wings. “If Dean Winchester wants to move humanity, then I will do just that.”

 

* * *

It was an old tea set, chipped and worn. The blue flowers had long since faded to silver outlines, and one of the cups was missing its handle; all that remained was a porcelain thumb rest.

Gabriel lifted the cup to his lips, sipping slowly, and Mary sat down across from him, folding her hands on the table.

“Where were you when Azazel murdered my parents and my husband?” She said calmly, the air electric with the sound of her voice. Gabriel leaned back in his chair, tapping his chin.

“Argentina, I think. Taking out the forces of the dictators in the Dirty War.”

“Why are you here?” Mary demanded, and Gabriel set down his cup, leaning forward. “My brother, Castiel, and your son, Dean, are fighting a war on Earth. They’re fighting against this group of angels who are trying to restart the Apocalypse and kill God.”

“Lucifer?”

Gabriel shook his head. “Lucifer is dead. It’s Michael that we have to worry about now.”

“Michael? Isn’t he supposed to be one of the good guys?”

“He’s gone insane.” Gabriel said softly, lowering his head and running a hand through his hair.

“You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”

“I’m here because my brother is killing himself to save your planet, and now an old enemy is trying to flank him by breaking into Heaven from Purgatory. I just shut the gate, but Samael has all her angels on Earth now. I want to take Heaven while she’s gone.”

“Samael is the angel trying to kill Dean?”

“And your grandson and grandchild-to-be.” Gabriel said slowly, and Mary nodded, standing up.

“We’ll need help.”

“I know exactly where to get it.” Gabriel just grinned, reaching out to wrap an arm around her shoulders, though he backed away at the glare she gave him.

“For reference, I’m also mated to one of your sons, so killing me would be bad.”

“Just so we understand each other.”

 

* * *

Sparkling lights and big money could do wonders in clearing a disaster area, and Las Vegas, Nevada had been one of the first cities to fully reopen after the Yellowstone eruption. Castiel almost leaned out of the window as Dean drove down the Vegas Strip, captivated by the lights reflecting off the windows of the casinos. It was more than he’d ever imagined, though it made sense that the City of Sin would be so beautiful.

“I wonder if this is what Gomorrah looked like,” Castiel breathed, and Dean laughed lightly, reaching to take the angel’s hand.

“They didn’t have neon lights back then.”

“True,” Castiel said softly, looking back at Ireul. She too was captivated by the lights of the city, and she smiled back at him.

“It’s amazing.”

Dean pulled the car into the first chapel that he saw, and Castiel and Ireul got out, looking around with bright eyes. Dean shook his head at the angels, lifting Simon into his arms. The toddler clapped his hands, wriggling in his father’s arms.

“Yeah, the lights are pretty aren’t they, kiddo?” Dean grinned, balancing Simon on his hip as he walked to Castiel’s side, taking his hand and threading their fingers together. “You ready for this?”

Castiel turned his head and smiled at him, tucking himself against Dean’s side. “Yes...yes, very much so.”

“I’ll secure the interior,” Ireul said, and she led the way inside.

The chapel itself was a gaudy pink, and inside was worse. The off-white walls were highlighted by magenta carpets and the bright gold receptionist’s desk was flanked on either side by a pair of bright neon lights in the shape of joined wedding bands. Behind the desk was a tiny Asian woman wearing a red brocade dress, and when she smiled, one could see half her teeth were gold.

Castiel flinched at the askew barrage of colors and the acrid scent of too much potpurri, and rolled his eyes as Dean shrugged at him.

“We’re doing this again after the war, and we’re doing it properly..”

Dean just smiled and kissed him, because if a second wedding meant that Castiel survived the battle, then he’d even wear a monkey suit. Hell, he’d shave his head and paint his eyebrows gold for a second wedding with Castiel.

“Who happy couple?” The woman greeted them after Ireul returned from sweeping the chapel, and Dean stepped forward.

“I’m Dean, and this is my fiance, Castiel, and our son, Simon. This is Ireul, our witness.”

“Good good. You want theme? We have special now, package deal for couple include hotel and…”

Castiel shook his head quickly. “No, we just want to be married and quickly. We won’t be staying the night; we have to return home.”

Just as he finished, a young woman came out of a door behind the desk and blinked in surprise at the sight of them.

“It’s you…” she breathed, and she walked quickly around the desk, reaching for Dean’s hand. “You’re the man from the television! The one who spoke about the angels, and the war…”

Dean had taken a step back, and Castiel a step forward, when the woman grabbed for Dean’s hand. Now she looked between them, biting her lip, and Castiel slowly relaxed, stepping back to stand next to Dean.

“Yeah, that’s me,” Dean ran a hand through his hair, smiling sheepishly. “You guys saw that?”

She nodded quickly, holding his hand in both of hers. “I can’t believe...everything you said...was it true?”

Dean lowered his head, closing his eyes briefly. “Yeah, it’s true. Every monster you can imagine, and some you can’t...they’re out there, and people like us...we hunt them. Normally, we work in secret, but this was just too big.”

He saw her gaze flicker to Castiel, and Dean smiled, taking Castiel’s hand and tugging him closer.

“This is Castiel, my fiance, and behind him is Ireul, and our son, Simon.”

“I’m Anika,” She smiled, shaking Castiel’s hand when he offered her his. “I don’t believe I’ve met a Castiel before.”

“It means ‘shield of God,’” Castiel said softly, and her eyes widened slightly.

“Are...are you an…”

“I am an Angel of the Lord.” Castiel smiled. “As is Ireul.”

“You’re helping Dean in his fight?”

“Yes,” Castiel answered before Dean could correct her, smiling coyly at his mate. “I most certainly am.”

“Well,” Anika smiled and clapped her hands together. “Let’s get you two taken care of so that you can get back to saving the world. Sound good?”

Dean nodded quickly, squeezing Castiel’s hand and Simon giggled in Ireul’s arms, the baby’s laughter echoing through the small chapel. Dean turned and gave his son a thumbs up before following Anika into a smaller, side chapel.

 

* * *

With Dean and Castiel having disappeared off to wherever they had gone, Crowley figured that left him in charge. He'd given orders to the Knights to gather their forces. They had a much larger following in Hell as they had been around much longer. It was likely due almost entirely to fear, but Crowley would take what he could get in times like these. At least the angels took his orders pretty well, but then again, angels were programmed to take orders.

"I have located a temple in southwestern Tibet that will give us an easily defensible position," Inais was saying, and Crowley forced himself to pay attention and not keep checking his phone for messages from Bobby or Sam. "I have soldiers making adjustments and repairs to the facility, but I believe we can start moving forces there immediately."

Crowley nodded, running a hand through his hair. "Yes, do it. Move a garrison there to set up defensive positions, and then start moving the squishy ones."

"Sir?"

"Humans. Move the humans next."

"Yes, sir,"

Crowley turned his head to see Zadkiel managing the children that had come with many of the human reinforcements. While some men and women had come alone, many had brought their entire families. Every person capable of wielding a weapon and being of sound mind was being instructed in angel-on-angel warfare. The oldest child in Zadkiel's care was four. All the rest were trying to be of some use somewhere, whether it was forging bullets or helping stock supplies. Jody had a job for everyone, and Crowley wondered why he was the only one with time to keep checking his phone.

Where in the _bloody_ Hell were they!?

 

* * *

Bobby stopped to catch his breath, doubling over and putting his hands on his knees to try and alleviate some of the pressure. The air seemed thinner, and he was lightheaded and dizzy. Sam, however, hadn't slowed down. If anything, he was getting faster, seemingly unaffected by the change in atmosphere.

"Come on, Bobby!" Sam prodded, bouncing on his feet while Bobby recovered. "We're almost to the Gate!"

He could only nod and, after a minute, continued on after Sam. Wrath was the last sin before them, but Bobby was too tired to be angry. He didn't remember this climb being so difficult the first time, but maybe he'd gone up a different side. After all, Crowley's flame had been leading him then, and now he was following Sam. He hoped Tessa was all right. They hadn't seen or heard from her for hours.

 

* * *

It took some maneuvering, and a lot of guess work, but Gabriel finally traced down the genius who had hacked the system.

"I've never heard of this Ash person," Mary huffed, running a hand through her hair, and Gabriel grinned.

"Trust me, if we need to find someone, it's going to be a ton easier if we ask him. He's got this whole place wired."

"Shouldn't you know how to find people in Heaven?"

"Do you know how many people are in Heaven now? How many individual Heavens exist? Billions, if not trillions. I'm not Dad."

Mary rolled her eyes but followed him as he scrawled a sigil on the wall, and the next second, they were in a small, mostly abandoned bar.

“Uh...who’re you?”

There was a skinny man behind the bar, sporting a mullet. He popped open a beer as he watched them.

“Uh, I’m Gabriel,” Gabriel smiled. “And this is Mary Winchester.”

The man’s eyes widened and he came around the counter, sipping his beer. “ _The_ Mary Winchester?”

“Um…” Mary bit her lip. “That depends.”

“Mary Winchester, mother of Dean and Sam Winchester, married to John Winchester, daughter of Samuel and Deanna Campbell?”

Mary smiled slowly. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Dude.” he grinned. “I’m Ash. You’re, like...legendary around here. On Earth, all anyone can talk about is John Winchester, but the angels...oh, they had a hard on for you. I’m surprised they haven’t nabbed you up before now.”

“I don’t think anything I’ve done is worth glorifying,” Mary murmured, ducking her head, and Ash shrugged.

“Eh, to each their own, I guess. I’m pretty sure you guys didn’t stop in for a shot.”

Gabriel stepped forward, snapping himself up a drink as he sat down at the counter. “I need every hunter in Heaven that is self-aware. We’re launching a counter-attack from Samael’s rear flank.”

Ash slowly grinned. “Now that’s something that sounds like fun.”

He pulled a laptop up from under the counter and began typing. “You’re gonna want the Harvelles, naturally, and Pam’s already on her way. We had a drinking contest scheduled. Deanna Campbell, Victor Henriksen…”

“What about my Dad? John?” Mary asked softly, and Ash sighed, shaking his head.

“Your dad’s not up here, and John’s...nobody knows where John is. He was in Hell, but he escaped a few years ago, and his soul has been AWOL ever since.”

Mary sighed and nodded, sitting down at the counter. “Did you dream up a bathroom in here?”

Ash nodded and pointed. “Though I’m not sure what’s in there. I’ve never checked it out.”

Mary just turned, her dress shifting around her as she disappeared into the bathroom. Gabriel sipped his drink, simple whiskey rather than anything that could actually intoxicate him.

“It’s gonna be rough.”

“What do we care?” Ash grinned. “We’re already dead.”

 

* * *

Mary looked at herself in the mirror, the same image staring back at her that had appeared in her mirror on the night Azazel had come into her son’s bedroom, turning their lives upside down. She closed her eyes, thinking of the life that her sons should have had, the life that was stolen from them. They’d both found angels now, had families, and someone was trying to take that away from them.

Her brow furrowed, and the thin fabric of Heaven’s magic began to work around her. It hadn’t taken her long to figure out how it all worked, it was how she had created her own Heaven instead of replaying old memories. She watched her boys grow up and marry and have children of their own, but now...now she was going to watch them as they should have been. Her boys were heroes, and always would be.

She pinned her hair up, her dress having shifted into something a bit more combat friendly. The angel blade she’d found and hidden away during Heaven’s civil war when into the thigh holster of her new jeans, and she smirked at her reflection.

And they thought her boys got everything from their father.

 

* * *

Bobby kept pushing himself forward, his grip tight on his makeshift blade that he’d found among the bodies littering the way. There was no path anymore, only more bones. It looked as if they had turned on each other more often than not, and Bobby was glad that Sam had cut the rope between them. Maybe he’d anticipated the response. The only face he’d seen along the way was his father’s and he’d already leaped that hurdle. The dark fog around him was palpable, and it felt more like trying to swim through sludge rather than simply walking. It stuck to his skin, pulling him down, a slow painful death, but Bobby growled, pulling himself up and forcing another step.

The anger that filled him was sudden and harsh. He could see the demon that killed Karen, his father, his mother, himself...all the things that had gone wrong and those who’d caused them. His boys, Castiel, Crowley, all of them. Those dick bastards had ruined his life, over and over. He could’ve been a mechanic. He’d been so close to having enough to turn his junkyard into a full time garage. He could’ve been _normal._

He closed his eyes, squeezing them tight. _Come on, come on, Singer, focus._

His father was a bastard. His mother should’ve been stronger, should’ve defended him. Karen should’ve fought off the demon. The demon should’ve never come near them! John with his snivelling brats, Dean and Sam always breaking the world...Crowley…

 

Crowley’s head shot up at the name. Was...was someone praying to him?

 

Bobby hit his knees in the middle of the broken path, bones crunching beneath him as he clasped his hand together. “Malachi…”

Crowley stole his soul, tortured his boys, tortured Castiel, left Castiel and Dean for dead, tormented Sam, lied...lied to everyone...loved him.

Crowley loved him. So did Dean...and Sam...and Castiel. They were his boys. He even had a grandson, Simon. His boys.

“Malachi...lead me home.” he whispered.

 

Crowley shoved the contracts off his makeshift desk, drawing on the oak with strong white lines. He scrawled in Enochian letters around the edges of the sigil, sloppily, not knowing what darkness held Bobby in its grasp.

“ _CAHARISATEOSA…”_ he whispered, placing his hands on either side of the sigil, and for a moment, his eyes glowed blue. “... _OLAPIRETA.”_

 

Bobby felt the light before he saw it, a bright burning light that cut through the darkness, washing away the shadows that gripped him. He felt the fog slip away, his anger falling like shards of glass to shatter on the bones beneath his feet. He stood as the flame dimmed, and it glided down to hover before him, the same blue flame that had led him out of Purgatory what seemed like a lifetime ago.

“Hey Crowley,” Bobby smiled, reaching to the flame. It was cool to the touch, and Bobby felt safe for the first time in weeks.

 

* * *

Standing under the awning, two men stood side by side, staring out at the passing shoppers. Many hurried past them into the coffee shop, but the two never moved. At an unseen trigger, the two looked at each other in surprise, then off to the west. “Enochian magic…”

“Powerful...unwarded…”

They both promptly disappeared.

 

* * *

Bobby followed the flame as it led him up the mountain once more. It burned away the remainder of Wrath’s endless fog, and this time, slowly the mountain began to level out, and Bobby found his strength returning. Soon, the flame wasn’t the only light. There was a brilliant glow before him, and Bobby could just see the makings of a Gate.

The flame flickered and died and Bobby sent a silent prayer of thanks to Crowley.

“You found it.”

Bobby turned to see Sam climbing up the mountain after him, looking beyond him to the Gate outlined on the horizon. The light seemed to flourish around it, hazy as if heat were pouring off of it.

“We found it, son,” Bobby smiled, reaching out to clasp his shoulder, and Sam laid a hand over his, moving just beyond him as he stared at the Gate.

“Finally...after all this time…” Sam whispered, his eyes glimmering.

“What happened?” Bobby asked after a minute. “I thought you were ahead of me.”

“I went back.” Sam murmured, not taking his eyes off the gate, and he slowly reached behind his head, pulling a black blade out from his knapsack. “For this.”

“Crowley’s blade…” Bobby murmured.

“A blade this powerful should not be lost,” Sam smiled, turning to face him and placing his hand on Bobby’s shoulder. “I thought you might want to have it back.”

“Thanks, son…”

Bobby’s eyes widened as something in Sam’s smile flickered, and the blade came down.

The blade pierced flesh and bone, and Bobby doubled over, feeling blood burst into his throat. Sparks flew from the wound, and his blood ran black. Sam jerked his arm back, the blade pulling free, and Bobby fell to his knees, holding his stomach where the blade had pierced through.

“You...rat bastard…” he gasped.

Sam smirked, circling around him, blood hissing on the blade. “I suppose your next question is, ‘Where’s Sam?’ He’s alive, if that’s what you’re wondering. We kept him, just in case, you know? In case something happened to me, because, well, I’m replaceable. Sam is key.”

“What’re you...talking...about?” Bobby wiped blood from his chin, trying to regain his feet, but the Leviathan placed a foot on his shoulder and shoved him down.

“Someone has to open the Gate.”

 

* * *

“Do you, Dean Winchester, take Castiel Novak, to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

It was the name they’d put on the marriage certificate. Technically, Castiel Novak didn’t exist, but Dean had a feeling that somewhere, Jimmy was smiling down on them. Dean’s hands were moist as he clasped Castiel’s hands in his own, and he nodded, licking his lips as he met Castiel’s gaze.

“I do,” he said softly, then cleared his throat, speaking again. “I do.”

“And do you, Castiel Novak, take Dean Winchester to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

Castiel smiled softly as he squeezed Dean’s hands. “I do.”

“Then I now pronounce you: man and...angel. You may kiss…”

She didn’t get to finish, because Dean had surged forward to kiss Castiel, a sharp pain bursting out from his lips as he met Castiel’s, but Castiel only chuckled at his force and wrapped his arms around Dean’s shoulders, kissing him lightly in return.

“Are you happy now, Dean?” Castiel asked softly, and Dean nodded.

“I most certainly am, Castiel Winchester,” Dean grinned, and Castiel chuckled, letting Dean wrap his arms around his waist, holding him close. He felt Castiel’s wings wrap around him and curled his own underneath the elder angel’s. He wondered briefly if he was closer to human or angel now, and decided it didn’t matter.

Anika smiled and stepped down from the sanctuary, giving them both a hug when they pulled away from each other. “Congratulations. Come with me, and I’m sure Mom has your licenses notarized by now.”

Dean nodded and pecked Castiel’s lips again before they followed Anika back into the main room, Ireul following them with Simon, the little ringbearer giggling as he mouthed at the little bouquet he’d been given. Castiel nestled under Dean’s arm, smiling at the waves of pleasure he felt pouring off his mate’s Grace. Neither of them noticed that Anika had stopped walking, but Simon suddenly began to yell, dropping the bouquet to put his hands to his head.

Both parents spun, Castiel taking Simon from Ireul’s arms and rocking the toddler, placing a hand to his forehead. Dean hovered next to them, one hand resting on Castiel’s waist, moving with his husband. It was almost as if Castiel’s Grace protected him, but when he stepped back, images slammed into his head.

He heard Castiel cry out his name as he dropped to his knees, and felt Ireul drop next to him, her Grace brushing against his in confusion. The images got faster and faster, flashing before his eyes, and he moaned as he realized what they were. He could see the blood glistening on the silver blade, the body before him filleted open, the exposed lungs filling rapidly. He saw himself laughing as he slowly separated the lungs from the rest of the thoracic cavity, pulling them to the side, exposing the heart.

There were words echoing in his ears, words he didn’t quite understand, but they soon cleared.

_Do not listen to the Deceiver. The War in Heaven is now on Earth, but fear not, for we are here. See the truth, and know._

Dean cried out in frustration, recognizing Samael’s voice. With a surge of Grace, he tore himself out of the flashback, fighting back tears as he gasped for air.

“Dean? Dean!” Castiel had him by the shoulders, holding a screaming Simon against his chest. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Samael…” Dean gasped, holding his head. “She’s...she’s making a move…”

“You…”

Dean stood slowly at the sound of Anika’s voice. Her eyes were wide, a cold sweat over pale skin glistening in the neon lights.

“You…” She took a step back, her entire body shivering. “Are you Satan?”

“What?” Dean gasped, and shook his head, laughing breathlessly. “No, no way. I’m Dean, just like I said.”

“She called you the Deceiver. Those images...were those real?” Anika breathed, still backing up, and Dean flinched, dropping his head.

“Yeah...I...died, and went to Hell, and….” Dean breathed.

“Oh God,” Anika gasped, turning away from them both. “Oh God.”

“Dean.” Castiel held a hand to Simon’s forehead, the toddler’s screams having turned to ragged sobs. “Dean, we have to go. Now.”

Dean nodded and took Castiel’s hand, pulling him past the now sobbing Anika. They’d barely taken two steps out of the chapel before the report of a shotgun had Dean shoving them back, the paneling of the wall next to them bursting out, peppering them with shards of wood and glass. Anika’s mother pumped the spent shell out of the gun, reaching for another, and Dean grabbed Castiel, hauling him up and running.

Outside, Dean skidded to a stop at the sight awaiting them. Every person along the Las Vegas Strip was stopped, staring almost blankly forward. Ireul burst out of the chapel after them, holding her silver blade at the ready, flanking around Castiel.

“That’s him!” The preacher that had been standing on the sidewalk corner pointed at Dean, raising his Bible. “In God’s Holy Name, I rebuke thee!”

Across the street, two security guards pulled guns and began to run towards them. Dean reached for his own gun, clenching his jaw, but he suddenly found Castiel shoving Simon into his arms and leaning up to kiss him hard.

“Take Simon and go.” Castiel urged.

“I’m not leaving you!” Dean shouted, looking around at the crowd that was turning against them.

“Take Simon home. They're only human; they can't hurt me.” Castiel murmured, giving him a light shove as he drew his own blade.

Among the crowd, several angels appeared in a rush of wings and light, and Dean gritted his teeth.

“They can,” he growled, and Castiel shoved him again, this time far more forcefully.

“Go, Dean!” Castiel shouted as Ireul lunged forward, knocking several humans out of the way to block the angels’ attack.

The last thing Dean saw before Castiel’s hand connected with his forehead was the sight of a silver blade plunging into Ireul’s throat.

 

* * *

 

With Ash's guidance system, Operation Knockin' on Heaven's Door was going smoothly. Ash led them around the few angel sentries that Samael had left guarding their home, and Gabriel flitted around, recruiting more troops from the old hunting grounds. Watching Mary Winchester shake hands with Ellen Harvelle was a sight he'd never thought he'd get to see, but man, he wished he had a camera. This was too good. All the foxy ladies of the hunting world, here to take back Heaven.

"All right, ladies," Gabriel grinned, clapping his hands together, and the few guys gave him an annoyed look. "Everybody got your ass-kickin' boots on?"

Jo Harvelle rolled her eyes, but Gabriel just spun on his heel, borrowing Ash's computer to lay out the battle plan.

"This is Heaven's nerve center, here," he pointed to the map that Ash had whipped up for them. "It's not God's throne room, so relax. Dad's been long gone anyway. This is just where the Keepers keep everything running smoothly, plus it houses the Archives and Michael's corner office with the sweet view."

There was a prick suddenly, and Gabriel paused, looking back over his shoulder. To be honest, he hadn't heard from Sam in quite a while. What if something was wrong? But he couldn't think about that now.

"The angdar is showing that there's only one angel on guard duty there," Ash was explaining as Gabriel took a step back, unable to push the sudden pangs from his mind. "Probably not expecting an B&E from the inside,"

The voices of the hunters faded as Gabriel stepped to the side, but he soon felt Mary's hand on his shoulder.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm worried about Sam," Gabriel murmured. "I keep getting pangs from what I think is his side of the bond, but Tessa was supposed to pull him out of Purgatory hours ago. He should be fine."

"Unless something went wrong." Mary frowned, the simple action changing her entire expression from gentle matron to the warrior he knew her to be.

The next pang hit him hard, and he finally recognized what it was. "Oh...oh crap, Sam's at the South Gate."

"What's the South Gate?" Mary barely had a second to ask before Gabriel disappeared.

 

_"GABRIEL!"_

He heard Sam before he saw him, and nearly wept at the sight of his mate on the other side of the chained gate. Oh, he should've known to make sure that they got out before he locked down the gate.

"Sam." Gabriel breathed, his hands closing around the bars of the gate. "What happened? Where's Tessa?"

"I don't know!" Sam was flushed, drenched in blood and sweat, and Gabriel could feel his fear. "One minute she was there, and then she was gone! She said to meet her in the shadow of the mountain, and when we got there, she said we had to go up through Heaven because the Leviathan had cut off her other escape route. And we had to go through the Sins, and I lost Bobby...I don't know what's going on, Gabe..."

"Hang on, babe," Gabriel breathed, stepping back. "Just let me remove a couple of these sigils so you can slip through."

"Gabe!" Sam shouted, taking another step forward, though he hesitated to go too near the gate. "We have to go back for Bobby! Please, I need you help."

Gabriel bit his lip. "It's too dangerous to go back now, Sam. Just let me get you through."

"Gabriel," Sam said firmly, his eyes glistening in the dim light flowing from the gates. "I'm not leaving Bobby. If you won't come with me, I'll go back myself."

The archangel glanced back over his shoulder, clenching his jaw, then he nodded, pulling at the chains. He was so focused on removing the sigils that he didn't see the look of triumph on Sam's face. Gabriel slipped through the thin opening he'd made. "We have to hurry. I can't leave this gate open any longer than necessary."

He felt a hand close around the back of his neck and a few slashing words of Enochian that put him on his knees, the Binding around his wings throbbing.

"Well, what do you know?" Sam purred above him. "Eating a bit of your mate did let me fool you for a bit."

Gabriel reached out towards the gate, and Sam slashed down with his blade. Gabriel howled with the black blade passed easily through his forearm, blood and Grace spurting over silver grass. Sam picked up his dismembered forearm and knelt down next to him, sliding fingers into his hair.

"I've always wondered what angel tasted like, but don't worry about the gate. I'll make sure it stays open no longer than _necessary."_

Blood spattered Gabriel's lips as he coughed, cradling his arm to his chest, the glow of his Grace dimming even as the blood continued to flow. Inches from Heaven, and he was still going to bleed out. Ah, the cruelest of ironies.

"Is Sam...still alive?" Gabriel gasped, watching the Leviathan straighten, licking his fingers.

"Last time I saw him, he was," The Leviathan shrugged. "But now? Who knows? My brothers and sisters are coming, but we needed a human to get to the top of the mountain, and an angel to open the gate. It must be fate, the three of you coming together like this. Sam to get me in place, Bobby to reach the top...and you? Oh, you're just the icing on the cake. I think angel is going to become a new delicacy in Purgatory. Grace has the sweetest of tangs."

Gabriel cried out as the Leviathan slid the blade along his thigh, carving off a thin slice of flesh like a butcher preparing his table. Gabriel watched as the Leviathan delicately ate each piece, licking his fingers when he was done.

"You and I are going to stay right here until my brother gets here." The Leviathan purred. "Maybe, if you're lucky, we'll eat you quickly. Though I think one of my sisters had the idea of pinning your wings on the gate, so everyone will know who let us in."

Gabriel suddenly lunged, grabbing the black blade with his one remaining hand, gathering the last shards of his Grace to knock the Leviathan back. He just needed one moment, the one moment when the Leviathan was struggling to regain its balance, and he swung. Only when the Leviathan's head was bouncing down the mountain did Gabriel let himself fall. He crawled towards the gate, reaching to close it as the gate itself began to blur in his vision. He could feel the weaves of ooze sliding down between his wings, hissing as they flowed over the Binding, folding into it, shattering him piece by piece.

The last of his Grace shone behind his eyes, and it wasn't enough to push the gate closed again.

 

* * *

Dean landed roughly on the steps outside of Jody’s house, and immediately surged into the house. He found Zadkiel in the living room with the other children and pushed Simon into his arms. “Take the kids somewhere safe! Now!”

He didn’t wait to hear the angel’s response, spreading his wings as he ran back out of the house, pulling his silver blade. It turned out he quite needed it, as he immediately saw Maharet running towards him.

“Maharet!” he shouted. “Cas is in Vegas, he’s under attack!”

“So are we.” Maharet breathed. “Samael herself is here.”

Dean closed his eyes, trying to shut the bond’s screaming out of his mind, begging him to return to his mate. “Get everybody out. Inais had that place, move everybody there. Fast.”

Maharet bowed her head, and took off towards the house. Dean gritted his teeth, unsure of where to go. He saw Briathos fighting off a pair of angels, and started to go help him when something else occurred to him. He turned, running back into the house, shouting for Maharet.

“Where’s Crowley!?”

Maharet’s eyes widened, and she turned, running out the back. Dean glanced into the living room, glad to see it was empty, and followed Maharet out. He immediately saw Crowley’s blond head peeking through the smoke billowing from several nearby houses that had caught fire when a falling angel landed between them. Dean pushed through the growing carnage as the sounds of angels fighting got louder around them.

Crowley wrenched a silver blade from an angel’s chest as Dean grabbed his arm. He spun, barely stopping his strike in time to keep from impaling Dean.

“Where the bloody Hell have you been!?”

“No time, we have to get you out of here,” Dean growled. “Samael can’t get her hands on you or Cas.”

Crowley clenched his jaw, looking back to the many angels fighting beyond the burning trees, then nodded.

“Where?”

Dean turned, seeking out Maharet, but she was nowhere to be found. He spun around again, then closed his eyes.

_(INAIS!)_

There was a flutter of wings, and the angel in question appeared beside him, bloody and covered in ash. Dean let himself have a brief moment of relief, reaching out to the angel to steady him.

“Inais, you said you found a place in the mountains, and we were moving people there. Where is it?”

Inais shook his head, doubling over and placing his hands on his knees as his wings trembled. “Can’t…

“What do you mean you can’t?” Dean’s voice wavered, the bond continuing to scream in the back of his mind. He took the slightest of comforts in it, because it meant Castiel was still alive.

“Can’t tell you,” Inais breathed. “It’s warded. I have to take you.”

“Okay, so let’s go.”

Inais looked up at them wearily. “I don’t have enough strength to take both of you.”

“Then take Crowley.” Dean growled, just as Crowley opened his mouth to protest. “Just take Crowley. I’ve got to get back to Cas.”

“Dean…” Inais murmured and Dean pulled the angel up, clapping him on the shoulder. “Take Crowley. That’s an…”

He didn’t get a chance to finish before pain exploded from the back of his head, and he heard a few words of hushed Enochian before his vision went black.

 

* * *

When Dean woke again, there was warm stone above his head, pale, almost white and streaked with marbling. He slowly sat up, holding his head. He could feel drums pounding in his head, and he stomach churned on a boiling sea. His wings felt like they'd been stripped and scorched, and his Grace was all but gone. His bond was a tingy soprano in the back of his mind, hindered by his dimming Grace.

"What happened?" he groaned.

There was a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he looked over to see Bartholomew. Even with his limited Grace, he could see that something was wrong with the angel. His hands trembled, and his Grace was buzzing violently. Slowly, Dean began to see tears in Bartholomew's Grace, massive rents that were thrashing as if seeking the strands that would complete them. It was as if someone had simply taken half of his Grace and ripped it away.

"Bartholomew," Dean whispered, and the angel slowly smiled, looking up at him. One of his eyes was blown red, and one side of his mouth hung limp.

"Zadkiel is dead." Bartholomew murmured, blinking slowly. "And I won't last much longer."

Dean clenched his jaw and forced himself to turn, rolling onto his knees and kneeling before the angel. "Bartholomew...I'm sorry Zadkiel's dead, I really am...but do you know where he took the kids?"

A slow smile spread across Bartholomew's face, the firelight only making the shadows more eerie as half of the angel's face remained cold stone while the other writhed in delight.

"Zadkiel had fledglings? We're going to have a nest? I can't believe it." Bartholomew murmured, and Dean gripped his shoulders tightly.

"No, Bartholomew, focus on me. Focus! Where are the kids? The human kids! Where's Simon!?" Dean grit his teeth, trying not to shake the angel.

"Like nursery rhymes...." Bartholomew smiled. "I'm a little teapot, short and stout..."

Dean stood, looking around desperately, spotting another angel though he didn't know her name. "What's wrong with him?"

She looked back at Bartholomew and shrugged. "His mate is dead."

"Yeah, and?" Dean growled.

"Angels commonly go insane if their mate is killed." she said simply, and Dean looked back at Bartholomew. He closed his eyes for a moment, then turned back to the angel. His Grace was beginning to perk up again, and he recognized her Grace.

"Hannah," He said. "Do you know where Zadkiel took the children?"

"Sir?"

"Zadkiel was in charge of watching the human children," Dean tried to remain calm as he explained. "When the base was attacked, I told him to take them somewhere safe. If he's dead, please tell me that the children are safe."

She frowned, looking to the side, then back up at him. "I'm uncertain where they are. We were only aware of his death because of Bartholomew's state. He is not here, nor was he at the base when it was attacked."

"Okay, who knocked me out?"

"Inais brought you here." Hannah said softly. "He was injured, and we took him to rest while we cared for his wounds."

"Dammit," Dean growled. "Where's Crowley then? Tell me that Crowley at least got out!"

"Crowley has not been counted among the dead nor the living."

"So you don't know where he is." Dean growled, running a hand through his hair. Simon. Crowley. Castiel. He hadn't heard from Sam or Bobby for hours, or Gabriel, who was doing who knows what in Heaven. He was stuck here with a bunch of angels who had sticks so far up their asses they could lick wood. He pulled out his cell phone, but it was smashed beyond recognition.

"Son of a bitch!" he shouted, tossing the thing away. "I'm going back to the base."

"Sir," Hannah quickly followed him as he stalked away. "The base is unsafe. Samael could still have forces in the area, and the number of human and angel..."

Dean spun. "I might be able to trace Zadkiel's Grace to where he took the kids. I have to find Castiel...and Crowley. I _will_ find my son. If you try and stop me, I'll knock your ass flat before you have time to pull your blade. Do not test me."

Hannah stopped, swallowing nervously, and ducked her head. Dean watched her tuck her wings down, and straightened up, realizing that his own were flared up. He clenched his jaw and snapped them back down again, whirling as he flew back to Jody’s house. The only thing he could think was that with the bond’s anguished screaming in the back of his mind, he knew that Castiel was still alive.

Or maybe this was what it felt like to go insane.

 

* * *

Blood was a terrible thing to waste, at any time. However, in Purgatory, when a single drop of blood could bring down a fury upon the weary traveler, it was almost certainly lethal. The fact that he hadn't seen another face, friendly or otherwise, only told him he was getting closer to the Leviathan. Bobby had to stop, binding his shirt a little tighter around the wound in his stomach, gripping the makeshift blade he'd stolen from the first little fuck that tried to off him. He was already dead, but he was going to make sure that his boys didn't end up that way too.

He wasn’t exactly expecting there to be a camp, per se, but who knew what Leviathan planning to march on Heaven would be doing? Playing cards? Training? Why would they? They were angels’ natural enemy, unending chaos ever ready to undo basic order.

He’d covered himself with the thick, rancid blood of a vampire, mixed with a little werewolf and something else. Using mud and weeds, he bound his stomach with his shirt, his old ball cap abandoned for better sight lines.

Bobby gripped the blade tightly, moving down through the thick forest brush with a precision and grace belied by his age and figure. Something primal had gripped him, something he hadn't quite come to understand about himself before this moment, when the only thing between himself and his son was the sound of a stone's throw.

 

Thinking back, Sam felt like kicking himself for not realizing what was happening. Though, he really couldn't have known. He'd been pushing through the last levels, half-blind from tears, when the fog began to fill with people. Bobby was there, and John, and Mary, and even Jess. He'd pulled himself up, trying to ignore the sea of familiar faces, sure they were simply products of the twisted mind of the mountain. Yet, as he pushed through the crowd, a hand closed around his neck. He fought, slashing out, but the man holding him just laughed. Another hand wrapped around his wrist and he turned his head to familiar golden eyes.

He only had time to whisper "No..." and then the hand was pulling and there were _teeth_ and he was drowning and this time no one would be there to catch him.

Except he woke up. He _always_ woke up.

_...heat of the moment..._

Sam blearily opened his eyes, trying to lift his head, though even that small task seemed to take a monumental amount of strength. He used his one remaining arm to push himself up, his shirt and a torn blanket serving as a makeshift bandage for...the other side. He couldn't bring himself to look, not yet, but Leviathan milled past him and laughed when they saw him flinch. He wasn't even bound. There was no need, and no need to kill him. Not yet. Not while they still needed him.

_God...what have I done?_

Sam let himself fall back against the bark of the tree, looking up at the leaves as sad and pallid as he felt.

_We're going to Heaven, Clarence._

"Two by two..." Sam whispered, closing his eyes again. "Into the blue..."

_Pain...sinking…_

_wake up number 37_

 

The next time he woke, it was to a hand over his mouth. The sun had faded, leaving the monochrome world to a fate worse than Fifty Shades of Grey. When his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Sam could just see the figures of Leviathan. They were still, and he wondered if Leviathan slept, but then he realized that they were not relaxed, peaceful; instead, they were all tense, watching the mountain, and waiting. Waiting for an unseen signal, perhaps, but that was no doubt why not a single one moved as Sam felt himself slowly pulled behind the tree against which he’d been resting. His eyes widened when he saw who it was, and Bobby held a finger to his lips, waiting for Sam’s agreeing nod before releasing his hand.

Bobby pointed to Sam’s side where his left arm had once been, and Sam just shrugged. He had no idea what they’d done with his arm, probably eaten it, and he just felt sick thinking about it. Bobby seemed to understand, and tugged him forward. Sam’s first attempt at walking didn’t work well, sent off balance by the missing limb, and Bobby went to his side, wrapping an arm around his waist and lifting him up. Sam struggled to compensate, but Bobby refused to let him slow down once they started moving.

“I can’t…” Sam gasped, knowing they were making more noise crashing through the woods than his voice could combat. “I can’t keep going, I can’t...just leave me…”

Bobby growled, turning to face him. Sam fell back when Bobby let him go, leaning against a tree for balance. His wound had started bleeding again, soaking the blanket. He was pale, and Bobby grit his teeth. “Look at me, son. I ain’t got much time left for this world, but I know we got to get to that Gate. Not for us anymore, but because there’s a Leviathan up there wearing your face.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Gabriel…”

Bobby nodded. “We gotta make sure that Gate is shut.”

Sam nodded, gripping Bobby’s shoulder and Bobby helped him up. “Come on, Sammy, just one foot in front of the other.”

As he pulled Sam up and held him firm against his side, Bobby silently prayed to the one being he knew would be listening. _Malachi, if you got anything for us, we could use it now._

But there was only silence in reply.

As if it understood their purpose was beyond themselves now, the black fog of the mountain parted before them like water. Behind them, they could hear the screeches of the Leviathan, though they couldn’t tell if it was in anger or in jubilation. Had the Leviathan Sam reached the Gate? Were they too late? Was it useless to continue?

Neither man gave these doubts any ground to root, gritting their teeth and pushing on. When the screeching seemed to be right behind them, Bobby tugged Sam to the side and began tugging the blanket he'd used as a bandage from his side. Sam cried out in pain and surprise as the blanket had fused to his side with drying blood, so it took a hefty chunk of skin with it when Bobby yanked it off. Fresh blood wept from the wound, though Bobby used the blanket to sop it up until it stopped.

"They're after you," Bobby murmured. "I'll use this to make a false trail and lead them away."

"Bobby, no!" Sam hissed. "They'll kill you, and I can't make it up this mountain without you,"

Bobby gripped his shoulder, meeting his gaze. "I told you, I'm already dead."

He pulled his makeshift bandage aside, and Sam's eyes widened, shaking his head as he gripped Bobby's hand tightly.

"No...no, I'm not leaving you..." Sam whispered.

Bobby gave him a push then stepped back, the blanket trailing at his side. "I told you, boy, this is beyond us now. You get up there and make sure that Gate is shut. If the Chompers get up there, they'll get to Earth, and your brothers will be flanked from both sides."

Sam nodded, wrapping his arm around himself. For a moment, it looked like he was going to try and say something, then he simply turned around began to run up the mountain. Bobby watched him for a moment, wrapping the sodden blanket around his shoulders. In the dim cloudless light, Bobby's eyes glistened, and then he turned away from the mountain, running to the east, hoping that he could make the distance.

The darkness seemed to wrap around him the moment he turned away from the path.. He smirked when he heard the screeching turn to follow him and Bobby wrapped the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

"Run, Sam..." he breathed, pushing himself a little faster. "Run."

 

* * *

Dean slammed into the ground and ash rose in clouds around him. What had once been a quiet town outside of Sioux Falls now looked like something out of an apocalypse movie. The air was thick with dust and smoke, and he could barely see beyond a few feet. He could sense angels in the area, but he wasn't sure if they were on his side or Samael's. Instead of calling out, he tucked his wings back and tried to search for Crowley's Grace on his own. There wasn't much to go on, and the thin trace of Zadkiel's was almost gone.

When he reached what once had been Jody's house, tears started to fill his eyes. There was no way that Jody could have survived the massacre. Most of their angelic forces had been tied up in making the move, leaving only human forces behind. Then Samael had blasted her message straight into their brains, and everyone had been blindsided.

What if he _was_ the villain of this story? In truth, the stories are always told by the victors. The battle at the Alamo probably wasn't much of a battle to the Mexican armies that swept through without breaking a sweat. Were they the pesky ants that Samael had to stomp out before she invited guests over for tea?

Dean fell to his knees in the ash of the living room where he had last seen his son, tears forging trails through the dust on his face.

"I lost him, Cas, I lost Simon," Dean breathed, and covered his face in his hands. "I'm so sorry,"

"Dean Winchester?"

Dean looked up to see an angel walking towards him, a woman with brown hair pulled back tight into a bun.

"Which one are you?" he said gruffly, wiping his eyes.

"My name is Naomi," she said softly. "I helped Zadkiel transport some of the children. I know where they are. Hannah told me you were looking for them."

He scrambled to his feet, as clumsily as any human would, his wings flopping wildly. "Where? Where are they?"

"I'll take you." She reached out for his shoulder, and just as Dean felt her Grace flare, he turned his head to see Briathos shouting at him, running, and then they were flying.

It was too bright where they landed, and Dean tried to shield his eyes. Before he had a chance to adjust, shackles snapped around his wrists and his wings and he was pulled back into a chair, strapped down and unable to move.

"What the hell?!" Dean shouted, struggling, but there were two angels holding him down as Naomi picked up a silver instrument from a tray.

"Hold his head." She said simply, and Dean shouted wordlessly, unable to move as she directed the instrument towards his eye.

 

* * *

He could almost hear his blood dripping onto the ground as he ran. Sam had long ago given up trying to see where he was going, and simply kept running. He was hunched low over to one side and kept stumbling, catching himself with a hand and scrambling his way up the crumbling slope until his hand touched something that wasn't rock nor earth.

Sam shouted, falling back and catching himself on a scorched stump to keep from falling the rest of the way back down. He gasped for breath in the choking air, rolling onto his side, ash coating the hole where his arm had once been. He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened once more, pushing himself up onto his knees. Across the path sat his own head, staring back at him. As he watched, it blinked and screeched loudly. Sam lunged over, grabbing his own hair and flinging the head back down the mountain, shaking.

Whether it was sweat or tears dripping onto the ground before him, Sam could only think of his mate. He didn't know how he knew, but something had gone really really wrong. He only wished he had the connection like Dean and Castiel had, but he couldn't just _feel_ where Gabriel was no matter how much he wanted it.

Just as he began to think he wasn't going to make it, he saw him.

"GABRIEL!"

Sam hauled himself the last few feet, falling next to Gabriel, half flopping onto the archangel's chest. "Gabriel, Gabe, please, baby, wake up..."

Scrambling onto his knees, Sam groaned at the sight of his arm and pulled off his shirt, tying it in a tourniquet around the end. It looked like a clean cut, but the stump had turned black. Why hadn't his Grace healed it? He reached up, cupping Gabriel's cheek, trying not to be discouraged by the archangel's pallid color.

"Gabriel, come on," Sam pleaded, patting his cheek. "Wake up,"

When Gabriel still didn't wake, Sam looked around in exhaustion, tears carving trails through the ash on his cheeks. The glow of the Gate beyond them was dim, and Sam could see it held open by the slimmest margin. He pushed his hand through hair, looking up dimly to the sky. Slowly, he turned around, crawling behind Gabriel, and he hooked his arm under Gabriel's shoulder, kicking his feet and dragging himself and Gabriel slowly across the plain to the Gate.

Sam pulled himself through the Gate with Gabriel behind him, then got to his feet. He left crimson tracks across the crystalline linoleum as he walked, falling against the cold metal of the Gate. It took all his remaining strength to push it closed, and slide the locks into place. As he did so, many of the sigils that Gabriel had placed upon the Gate sealed shut once more, but just as many were left unclosed. Sam could not see any of this, however, and he shuffled back to Gabriel’s body, crumpling next to him. He pulled Gabriel close to him, tucking himself around the fallen archangel.

“Please…” he sobbed weakly. _Anybody...help……_

 

* * *

Bobby fell to his knees, pulling the blanket from his shoulders, using the cool water of the river to wash the blood from his limbs. He made sure there was nothing left before turning on the blanket. He pulled the flask of whiskey from his pocket and took a swig before pouring the rest over the blanket. No hunter was ever without a lighter, and it didn’t take much to set the fabric ablaze.

Getting to his feet again took a strength Bobby didn’t know he had left, and he leaned against a tree, waiting for his vision to correct itself. It cleared some, but blood loss was taking its toll at long last. There wasn’t much point to even trying to outrun the Leviathan, but something in Bobby told him to keep moving. He stumbled across the shallow river and up the embankment, getting caught in the dry brush and thorns that encompassed the forest floor. He weaved among the trees even when there were none, and when there was no path left for him to follow, he fell.

 

* * *

 

The moment that Dean vanished from his side, reappearing miles away, Castiel turned to face his brothers and sisters. Though he held his blade firmly, he hesitated to strike out against them.

“Brothers, please,” Castiel begged. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Angels….and people...all blurring together before him. His Grace--old and new--blurred inside and around him, creating a time slip within his very mind. Every person that had ever or would ever cross before him on that famous Strip walked in perfect lines through his vision. Castiel trembled slightly, gripping his blade too tightly, and such was how the first attack broke far too close for comfort.

Castiel yelped and scrambled back, trying to filter through the mass of information blinding him to the present moment. The angels fighting him were ungainly at best, and it took Castiel but a moment to realize that they were all fledglings, barely out of the nest. Were Samael’s forces so depleted that she raided nests and training grounds now?

Unwilling to hurt the young angels, Castiel tucked his blade away and used simple tactics and skill to disable as many as he could. Yet, when he broke out of the circle of angels, he nearly walked into the swing of a security guard wielding what looked like a fiberglass guitar. Castiel groaned then raised his hand, tapping the man’s forehead and he collapsed to the ground, fast asleep. Castiel cleared himself a way through the crowd like this, and then took off running, trying to find a place from which he could make a decent defense.

Without warning, a thin knife of pain stabbed through his mind from Dean’s side of the bond, straight through his head. Castiel fell to his knees, trying to reach out to Dean, but there was nothing but static.

“No…” he whispered.

Dean couldn’t be dead. Dean could _not_ be dead. Dean was all he had, his breath, his life.

Castiel pushed himself to his feet, turning to face his brothers and sisters as they converged on him again.

“Please,” Castiel whispered, blue eyes gleaming in the neon lights. “Please, I’m just trying to save you. Michael is lying to you. He’s been lying to you for eons. I bear the truth.”

“We have our orders.” A fledgling answered, the brown eyes of his young male vessel blinking as if he was uncertain of his own words.

“You’re taking orders from a lunatic!” Castiel shouted, pleading with them. “Even humanity has learned better! We were not made to take orders, we were made to be so much more! Michael has brought us all to ruin!”

Something in his voice made them stop, and Castiel all but fell to his knees before them, the commotion splitting through his Grace overwhelming. Past, present, future...all converging on one moment. Everything and nothing and someone and…

“How can I be what she tells you I am?” Castiel begged, looking out at them, trembling on his feet, his shorn wings extending around him. “Look at me! I am giving all I am to save us, my family, my people. I promise, I will give you the truth. I will let you see and decide for yourselves, and if you let me...I will reverse what Michael has done to you. I will set everything right, brothers, please...do not do this.”

Castiel lowered his head, but even when he closed his eyes, the whirl of all that yet needed to be done passed through him. In the center of it all gleamed the fragile light of his fledgling, and his vision began to fade as he felt a hand on his shoulder and a wing tuck itself under his. He looked up into strangely familiar blue eyes, and the angel turned, looking out at their brethren.

“Help me carry him.”

Castiel closed his eyes, and surrendered himself to the will of his kin.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	13. The Sword of Shannara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of Samael's surprise attack, Castiel struggles to fit the shattered pieces of his plan back together. Dean is a prisoner in Heaven, and Crowley is left to make Earth's plea for help known. Sam finally made it to Heaven, but what he finds there made the idea of making it home a dream not worth realizing.

* * *

****

A soft wind rolled through the beach grasses, making them whisper lost tales of all they'd seen: magic, mystery perhaps? Gods and men, kings and pawns, they had seen them all rise and fall like the ever constant tide, but today, there were diamonds in the sea.

The small island off Grecian shores was untouched by human hands, and yet two figures could be seen against the stark white sand. One sat on the beach, arms folded lightly over his knees, and the other frolicked in the wake of the retreating waves. Neither bore a single stitch of clothing in the bright morning sun.

The seated figure was of average height for the time and he was strong, a Roman soldier by the mark on his arm. He watched the other, eyes half-lidded, the peaceful wind stirring honey-brown hair. Not too far away, the other figure bent and scooped up small conch shells, already sporting a necklace of the same. His skin was bronzed from the sun, his stomach sporting a slight swell that was only healthy for a child of his age. He gathered a few more shells before heading up the beach to sit next to the elder.

"Here, Dad," The boy said softly, placing the shells in the valley between them. "I think I have enough for another chain."

"More than enough," The man smiled, gathering up the shells and scrubbing them lightly with sand so they gleamed. Watching him, the boy hugged his knees to his chest, setting his chin on them. A storm crackled in the distance, setting lightning across the sky in fiery streaks.

"Dad..." The boy said softly, turning his head at the crack of thunder. "Who's that?"

The man looked up at the storm and chuckled. "Not all storms are angels, Mal."

Malachi tilted his head, watching the storm for a little while longer before he turned back to his father, his gaze far away.

“Dad, you’ve never told me about the angel you got me from,”

Gabriel frowned, cleaning the shell for another minute or two before setting it aside and turned to Malachi, taking both of the fledgling’s hands in one of his own, gently cupping Malachi’s chin to make certain that he was paying attention.

“Look at me, son, and listen very closely. The angel who gave you your Grace...her name is Samael. If you ever meet her, you must do exactly what I say, all right? Promise?”

“Promise,” Malachi said softly, squeezing his father’s hand.

“You run, Malachi. And you don’t stop until you get back to me. Just run.”

 

* * *

 

The Enochian words ripped through the very fabric of the space around them, and Crowley flinched backwards. Dean bore the brunt of the attack, the energy searing his wings, and Inais shouted a counter, catching their unconscious leader before he hit the ground.

“Get him out of here!” Crowley ordered, and Inais nodded, blinking out as he carried Dean to their stronghold. Crowley tightened his grip on the silver blade he wielded, turning to face the one who’d attacked them. A tall angel approached him out of the billowing smoke, the thick ash obscuring its face for a moment before they entered the slight clearing caused by the tree break.

“Don’t you have some shiny tools tucked in that belt of yours?” Crowley purred.

It smiled slowly, shimmering blonde and ethereal in that moment, then it spoke.

“Abomination,” it purred. “Oh, that I had forbade Gabriel from taking you from that whore. If I had known what you would have become, I would’ve thrown myself upon my own blade rather than let you threaten this world.”

Crowley’s eyes widened, and for a moment, he was the same frightened child he’d been so many years ago.

“ _Samael._ ”

She stepped forward, drawing her own blade and extending her own wings, dwarfing his by what felt like miles. Crowley took a deep breath, and spoke one single word. It twisted in on itself as it left his lips, and he clenched his jaw as Samael raised her blade. Her lips parted around a word of her own, but before she could speak, a Hellhound barreled into her, latching its jaws around her outstretched arm.

As Crowley turned, the howls of more Hellhounds began to fill the air, covering the retreat of Castiel's sworn elite. He himself ran into the burning remains of Jody's house. He slashed through the sigils they'd been practicing, throwing their maps and plans into the flames. With quiet spells, he left nothing uncharred, and descended into the basement.

Only a single sigil remained in the portal, and Crowley felt certain that if Samael was attacking here, she was attacking Dean and Castiel wherever they were. As much as he hated to leave them on his own, there were more important things at stake. With a flourish of his wrist, the last sigil completed itself. Crowley turned and barricaded the door before setting the rest of the room on fire. The flames crept steadily towards the door as Crowley called out through his Grace to Castiel and Dean, but heard nothing in response. He tried to listen for Bobby, checking his phone again only to find it had been smashed during the battle above.

The barricade he'd made only seconds before imploded, ash and flame erupting towards him, and he saw the silhouette of an angel framed in the doorway as he threw his arms up to shield his face

"Don't you move." Samael snarled, holding out a hand and pointing towards him, but Crowley remembered the promise he'd made so long ago.

"Fuck you." He drawled calmly, then ran for the portal.

Crowley heard her scream of rage as creamy glass surrounded him, the portal enveloping him in a gentle wash of color. The sounds of the battle faded away, and the last thing he heard was the sound of flames reaching the gunpowder Dean had hidden as a last ditch failsafe. The explosion rocked through the maelstrom of color around him, and he felt the doorway back to his world close on him. There was only one way to go now, and Crowley turned to keep it. He tried to run, and then he tried to crawl, and even after that he tried flailing and swimming. Still, nothing seemed to move him forward. After what felt like hours, his hand closed on something solid, and with all his strength, Crowley gripped it tightly and pulled.

It felt like wood beneath his hands, rotten wood that crumbled with every touch. All that had once been light and color faded into the smells of the earth and Crowley inched his way forward, mourning his new suit with every shift of his body. At long last, he heard sounds of life, and the wood crumbled away before him. The light was blinding as he fell out of the trunk of a massive willow onto damp ground. Light shown through pristine leaves, pebbling over his skin, and Crowley turned his head to see the hole he'd come through closing on its own, leaving the willow without even a seam to mark his passage.

He slowly got to his feet, brushing off his suit as much as he could, but there was truly no saving it. He sighed, pulling off his jacket in the growing heat and letting it drop to the ground. He'd make Castiel buy him a new one when he got back. He rolled up his sleeves and loosened his tie. Running a hand through his hair left dark streaks against the yellow, and he tried not to think about what picture he painted with his appearance.

"Halt." A voice growled, and Crowley turned, his eyes widened.

A massive feline creature paced towards him. Its fur was a dark blue and glimmered even in the faded light. Silver spikes rose from its dappled back, its head and neck thick with muscle, and it gazed down at him through piercing grey eyes, two more pair of eyes closed above the open two. Both footlong ears were turned to him, poised taut, and Crowley swallowed hard as he looked up at the massive beast, trying not to let his gaze linger on the heavy jaw set with sharp fangs.

Another appeared behind the first, similar in appearance, though this one was larger and blended into the forest itself with fur an ashen green. However, this one were silver armor over its stomach and back, and while the other's black claws were bare, this one's claws were plated in engraved silver. Both had split tails, lashing behind them, and massive wings tucked against their sides, matching their hide in color.

"State your purpose here, Nephilim of Aye." The armored one growled, revealing intimidating fangs as it spoke.

Crowley swallowed hard. He'd read about them, but never thought he'd actually see one. This was absolutely incredible.

"My name is Cr...."

_Never lie to a Feles. They'll gut you on the spot._

"My name is Malachi." Crowley tried again. "Son of Samael and of Gabriel, angels of Heaven. I come seeking counsel with the Braceking, Speaker for Ethalieh."

"You are the Hellking." The armored one spoke again, and the smaller chuckled.

"I thought he'd be taller."

The armored one growled, and the other cowered, tucking its tail between its legs and dipping in submission.

"I am Gravina, Sabrenlord, and Captain of the Brace. Be welcome, Hellking. Will you speak for Aye this day?"

"I will." Crowley said quickly.

"Then walk at my side, and we shall bear forth."

Crowley closed his eyes as both turned and he took his place between them, trying not to show the relief he felt at remembering all the tier names. Feles Alata could be tragically formal when pressed.

 

The woods gave way to alabaster turrets, and the ground beneath their feet turned to obsidian. Crowley knew that as a guest, he should keep his head down, but the wonder and brilliance of the city couldn't elude his attention. Gravina accompanied him to the steps of what appeared to be a public bath of sorts, and a small white Feles met them. Her eyes were a soft blue, and her long, pale ears had been decorated with small blue stones.

"I am Jaen," she said softly. "I will be your guide and _soren_ during your stay here, Hellking."

“Thank you,” Crowley said softly, and Gravina nodded to him before stepping away, heading towards another large building.

“If you’ll follow me,” Jaen said softly, and Crowley turned, following her into the baths.

Jaen led the way up a series of winding stairs, and even though she was much smaller than the other Feles, it still took him two steps to make up every one of hers.

“We have not had a visitor from Aye in many ages,” Jaen said quietly, her voice almost a purr compared to Gravina’s rough growl. “The Braceking wanted to make certain you were provided with anything you might request.”

“Right now, darling, a bath and a change of clothes will suffice.”

Jaen nodded, and pushed up open a door to their right. It seemed the entire wall opened with her gentle touch, and Crowley noted a large golden bell swinging in the hall next to his door. She walked into the center of a large room, sitting down and wrapping her tails around her. Crowley followed her, looking around,

“This will be your room. I hope it is adequate, and anything you need will be provided. Food, drink, company...all you need to do is ask. There is a private bath on the balcony, and I will have clothes provided for you. I apologize, they may be a bit antique. We’re not attuned to current styles of Aye.”

Crowley frowned. “What does ‘Aye’ denote in your tongue?”

“It means ‘between.’ It is what we call the realm between Heaven and Hell.”

Crowley nodded, smiling. “The people of that realm call it Earth.”

Jaen’s ears flicked forward, and her gaze softened. “I will make a note of that. Is Hellking still acceptable?”

“No better word for Hell than Hell.” Crowley chuckled. “Why are there no locks on the door?”

Jaen’s ears drooped and she tilted her head. “I...I don’t know that word, Hellking.”

Crowley turned. “What, locks?”

“No,”

“Something to keep the door from opening, to keep people out,”

“Why?”

“So they don’t attack me in my sleep,”

Jaen chuckled, shaking her head as she stood once more. "No one will attack you here, Hellking. There are no wars in Ethalieh. Our armies fight to protect the Axis, nothing more. No kit will enter your room without ringing the bell first. Rest in peace."

Crowley raised an eyebrow and chuckled, shaking his head. "We write that phrase on tombstones."

Jaen's ears flattened and she sighed softly as she turned to leave. "Shame that one must die in your realm to be at peace."

Crowley turned his head, closing her eyes as he listened to the sound of the door sliding shut. He looked around the room and walked over to a small table surrounded by cushions, pushing the books that were stacked on it to the floor. He pulled a piece of chalk from his pocket, and began to draw. He didn't know if his magic would work here, but he had to try.

Pressing his hands to either side of the circle, he poured his Grace into it, hoping. He squeezed his eyes shut, listening for a heartbeat, a breath...something.

"Bobby, can you hear me?" he whispered. "I'm right here. Please be okay. Please."

 

Jaen had brought him an elegant purple robe with an embroidery pattern around the sleeves that Crowley couldn't quite make out. It was old and Crowley couldn't even tell what material it was made of, but when Jaen told him that Kerrik, the Braceking, wanted to see him immediately, Crowley didn't even think about asking. All he could think of was getting back to his realm, and back to what mattered. He wanted out of this world where peace and happiness and joy was unchallenged. It made his skin itch.

The fabric swished as he walked, the slippers he'd been given were like walking through the softest grass, and Crowley fought the urge to grumble about it all as he hurried to the Grand Hall with Jaen at his side.

Kerrik Braceking was just as massive as Gravina had been, and Gravina himself sat to Kerrik's right. The Braceking's silver fur rippled when he stood, muscle shifting beneath his skin, blue enameled claws clacking on the black marble floor. He stood in front of a silver embroidered cushion, twin tails curling at his side.

"Malachi, Hellking, I greet you," Kerrik's voice boomed through the large hall, and Crowley came to a pause just inside the entrance. Jaen stopped as well, looking up at him, and Crowley took a deep breath, gathering his robe and striding forward with all the pride and strength he could muster.

_Please be okay, Bobby._

"Kerrik, Braceking," Crowley dipped his head, wanting to show his respect for the king's hospitality. "I greet you."

"My stewards have informed me that the Balance of the Three Seams has become wildly unstable." Kerrik sat down, wrapping his tail around his legs, but he did not descend down from his throne, which stood several steps above the rest. Crowley slowly noticed there were more Feles in the eaves, having come to watch him beg. "You come seeking aid."

"Yes, Braceking." Crowley said slowly, as if he were pulling each word from deep within his very Grace, forcibly unclenching his jaw. "My friend, Castiel, and his mate, a human named Dean Winchester, are fighting a war for the survival of Earth, the realm you call Aye. An angel named Samael seeks to release a pestilence upon this world and displace Castiel from his rightful position as Veilking."

Kerrik seemed to frown, but Crowley couldn't be sure. The Feles sat almost completely still for a slight twitch of his tail.

"So, Hellking, you come and ask for aid for...Earth?"

"Yes," Crowley said firmly. "Jaen told me you fight for the Axis, the Balance between Good and Evil that drives all things. Earth has fallen into chaos, and Castiel..."

"Tell me," Kerrik interrupted, his gaze narrowing. "Where is the Earthking?"

Crowley frowned, taking a step back. He’d never imagined a Feles to interrupt someone, and he could hear stirrings among their audience. He grit his teeth, but answered nonetheless.

“There is no Earthking."

Kerrik stood and came down the steps to where Crowley was standing, his walk slow and tense, as if he were sizing up the effort he would need to bring Crowley down and tear him apart. Crowley frowned, turning with him, forsaking etiquette now that he felt threatened.

"You come here to ask for aid for a realm not your own." Kerrik growled. "Where is this Castiel? Where is this Dean Winchester? It is their war, and they send you to do their bidding? They fight to regain control of their realms. Let them come and beg instead of sending another. They must show their humility before this..."

"Shut up." Crowley snarled, taking a step forward, his head reeling back to keep the Feles' gaze. "You...don't you dare talk about them like they're cowards. Castiel and Dean are two of the most humble, most selfless, and the strongest people I know. Dean was planning to come with Castiel's general when we were attacked. He was injured and had to be taken to our stronghold to be treated. Castiel was ambushed by enemy angels and his whereabouts are unknown. I only managed to make it through because I barricaded myself in and happened to get through the portal and close it before Samael herself made it through after me. So excuse me if I broke one of your rules. This isn't a time for formality and games. If you're not going to help us, then you can take your shiny world with your cheap happiness and world peace and suck my prick."

Kerrik seemed to swell before him, and Crowley prepared to have to fight his way out of the country, tooth and nail against every Feles in the hall.

"Kerrik."

A thousand times softer than Kerrik's booming growl, the whispery voice carried through with a weight that had even the Braceking setting down and bowing his head. Crowley looked up to see a white Feles descending towards them, her fur dappled grey and her blue eyes tired. Her spikes were worn and carried notches of battles past, and Crowley dipped into a low bow.

"Greetings, Hellking," she said softly as she came to a stop before him. "I am Ezrys, the Eldest of our kind. Walk with me."

Crowley nodded, swallowing hard, trying to remember what Gabriel had taught him about the Eldest.

"Be at peace, Hellking," she said as she led the way past the throne and up into a garden in the center of the Great Hall. "Forgive my son, he does not know the times of war and of chaos, nor how to act when they threaten at his door."

"I'm not at peace." Crowley snapped. "I'm never going to be at peace. I was not made for peace. I'm the King of Hell. My entire life has been one long battle to hide from people who want to kill me and gain enough power so I don't have to hide any longer. And now, everything I've worked for is in jeopardy. My father, my boyfriend, the best friends I've ever had...they're all fighting to save a world that hates them because if they don't fight, no one else will. We went to the Fae, and they told us to fuck off. Castiel's come to you because you used to have a contract with the angels, and..."

"Yes." Ezrys interrupted him, a smile gleaming in her eyes. "Your words do not fall on deaf ears here, Crowley. The _kittren_ will aid you. I merely brought you here to show you someone."

Crowley's eyes widened slightly as he watched the Eldest, licking slightly parted lips and ducking his head. "I...thank you...and thank you for...for calling me 'Crowley.'"

Ezrys bowed her head, her smile never fading, and she turned to walk again. "I have a favor to ask, a personal one, and I need you to relay it to your Veilking, Castiel."

"Of course."

"Do you know what happens to an angel when their mate is lost?"

Crowley frowned, and slowly shook his head. "My father told me it would be a grievous loss, but wouldn't go into detail. He didn't like talking about mates."

"Gabriel was a lonely child," Ezrys said softly. "I'm glad he had you."

She brought them into a clearing where there was a single angel sitting in the grass, surrounded by bright yellow flowers. As Crowley watched, he saw there were small insects that looked almost like blue bees crossed with butterflies flitting among the flowers, and the angel was watching them.

"Hadrian?" Ezrys said, her voice like a whisper through the glade. "I have brought someone here to see you."

The angel's gaze shot up, but when he saw Crowley, he just looked back towards the garden, his shoulders sinking. Crowley swallowed hard, walking over to him.

'Hello Hadrian," he murmured, but Hadrian didn't move, and Crowley could see the violent tears through his Grace. It was as if someone had reached into his core and ripped out the very fabric of his being, leaving just enough to hold him together by fragile threads.

"I brought Hadrian here after his mate, Aniel, died." Ezrys said, seating herself among the silver grasses. "Perhaps it was unkind, even cruel of me, but I wanted to observe him. It is common for angels to kill their widowed brethren out of mercy. I wanted to see if their Grace might ever heal itself."

"Has it?"

Ezrys' ears drooped, and she shook her head. "No, he has never shown even the slightest sign of improvement. At first he tried to act as a standard ambassador in our land, but was prone to fits during council. He confined himself to his room and covered it with summoning sigils, trying to reach his fallen mate. Then at last, I believe he's come the closest to peace in this garden. He tends it, and never leaves it. Yet, as you saw, he still hopes for Aniel's return."

"You see," she continued. "I've come to realize that angels simply cannot function without their mate once they have found them. Their Graces fuse into one life, separated into two bodies, and when one of them dies or is lost, the other loses all that makes them who they are. They become little more than shells...alive, but not living."

Crowley took a deep breath, closing his eyes and trying not to think of the growing probability that both Bobby and Sam were now dead and what that would do to his father. "Why did you want to show me this?"

"Michael and Lucifer were mates."

Crowley spun to face her. "The hell?!"

Ezrys nodded. "I was bound to Michael in the days of old. He was mated to Lucifer, and the two of them were inseparable. When Lucifer spoke out against her father's rule, Michael did not so much stand against her as fear what her rebellion would bring to them. His fears were justified when he was ordered to cast her out, to wage war against his own mate, and when he did so, it was just as if she had been killed. His Grace was cut off from her, but because she was _not_ dead, his descent into madness was much more slow."

"Michael went insane." Crowley breathed. "That's why he killed off the archangels. Why he wanted to take over...everything. He wanted the power to bring him...her...back."

Ezrys turned to him, her deep eyes filled with an ache that Crowley could only begin to imagine.

"Michael was my friend. What he has done has not been the work of a sane being, and I ask that you give him what he deserves. Do not let Castiel torture or imprison him. Give him the mercy of a quick death. Let him be at peace. Do the same for Lucifer if she still lives. Their wrongs are not their burden to bear."

Crowley nodded slowly. "I swear it, Lady Eldest."

Ezrys seemed to relax then, and she turned her head. "Come forth, Jaen, and tell Gravina to ready his _kethrai_ for battle. They will be following the Hellking to Earth and fighting to restore Balance to the Three Seams."

Jaen stepped forward from the shadows, bowing her head. Ezrys stood, and lowered her head to meet Crowley's eyes. "Remember your promise, Crowley. If you must wield the blade yourself..."

"Have no fear, Ezrys," Crowley smiled. "Ending Michael will not be difficult for me."

Ezrys perked her ears and nodded, and Crowley followed Jaen back down into the main hall. Neither turned when there was a rippling growl and the shattered cry of an angel's last breath.

 

"Malachi."

It had taken a couple days for Gravina to prepare his army for the move, and in the time, Jaen had produced an almost perfect replica of Crowley's destroyed suit. He'd smiled when he received it, and he'd found the collar had been emblazoned with a symbol he didn't recognize. Jaen explained that it was his rank among the Council as 'Hellking,' so that all who saw him would know.

Gravina came early the morning of the third day, and Crowley was more than ready to go. He knew the portal was ready; he'd seen it the first day, but Gravina wasn't there to call him to leave.

"Kerrik Braceking wishes to see you."

Crowley frowned but nodded, leaving Gravina to find his way to the Great Hall on his own. This time it was empty, and Kerrik was standing alone in the aisle.

"Braceking," Crowley said slowly, not bothering to bow his head, though this time Kerrik dipped his shoulders in greeting, lowering himself before his equal.

"I wanted to inform you that the Council has recognized your Dean Winchester as the first Earthking."

"I don't think he'll accept it." Crowley chuckled. "Aren't there rules against realmkings fraternizing with each other? You do know Castiel and Dean are mates."

"As my mother keeps reminding me," Kerrik said, resignation in his voice. "There are exceptions to every rule."

"You're learning." Crowley smiled. "I'll tell Dean of the honor you've given him."

"If he is as humble as you say..."

"Did I say that?" Crowley shook his head. "Oh, Dean is quite selfless, but he won't let you know it. He'll be on death's bed and still taunting you to cut a little deeper."

 

* * *

 

 

A shrill cry echoed through the halls of Heaven's darkest recesses, tampering off into a howl as it pierced through the air. It seemed to have taken a life of its own, but there were few who would listen to its weeping. Only one, and he listened with all of his being.

Naomi stepped back, her slim hands covered by thin surgical gloves, the fingertips of which dripped with blood. In her chair, Dean lay pinned to the metal by silver rods through his hands and arms, his legs bound. Blood ran down the back of the chair, pooling on the floor, dripping from where fledgling wings just beginning to turn emerald had once spread. His head was caught and entrapped within a device that held it upright and perfect still. Thin hollow tubules ran through the iron collar that encircled his head, providing Naomi access directly into his brain and even deeper, into his Grace.

Unbidden tears streaked through blood and sweat on his face, but Dean refused to give in to the urge to sob. He'd been tortured in Hell, but it was nothing like the cold, relentless way that Naomi looked at him as if he were an experiment, completely oblivious to his pain.

The door to his right opened, and Samael stepped in. A grin spread over Dean's face, and he leaned back as much as he could, chuckling. Samael glared at him, then looked to Naomi.

"Anything?"

"I can't isolate where his Grace intersects with Castiel's." Naomi said slowly.

"You _can't_?" Samael snarled, but Naomi straightened up, unfazed by her threat.

"He is not an angel. He is not a Nephilim. His Grace follows no discernible pattern. Even removing his wings did nothing to calm the chaos. His human soul and Castiel's Grace have fused beyond separation. I cannot tell where he ends and Castiel begins."

"Damn, that sounds like a cheesy love song." Dean laughed, and raised his voice. "'Baby when you touch me, I can feel how much you love me...'"

"Be quiet, filth." Samael snapped, and Dean just grinned.

"Suck my dick, Molly."

Samael clenched her jaw, and raised her hand, flicking her wrist in a gesture for Naomi to leave. Naomi sighed, but removed her gloves and stepped out, closing the door behind her.  Dean smirked, looking up at her.

"Hey, I didn't expect you to take me up on that, but I'm game."

Samael snarled, slamming her hands down over his forearms, pressing him down hard into his restraints. Dean clenched his jaw, refusing to let the pain show on his face.

"You are nothing." She snarled. "Nothing but a foul _mutant_ of Grace and Soul, born of greed and stupidity. You nearly destroyed Castiel when you dragged his Grace into your Soul. It was the fracturing of his Grace that formed you into this creature, your avarice devouring the stolen shards. Now, Castiel will come willingly to his grave. He will come to rescue you, thief though you may be."

Then she smiled, standing and stepping back. "Or he will not. Perhaps, he is finally free of you. Perhaps he will leave you here. Perhaps, we will find every place his Grace fused to your soul and cut him free and he will thank us for it."

"He won't come." Dean growled, even though her words left him shaking. "But not because he doesn't love me. He won't come because he knows that the world is worth more than me. He knows what he has to do."

A grin spead over his face, crackling the dried blood and letting it flake onto his shoulder.

"But you, Samael...you're running on fumes, aren't you? You forget...I can see your wings."

Her eyes widened, and she suddenly tucked her wings back, trying to hide them.

"How dare you..." she started.

"But you're not moulting are you?" Dean laughed. "You're ripping your own feathers out. Why? There's only a few spells angel feathers are used in. You don't need to travel back in time, so...trying to get into contact with someone? Someone over the rainbow? Phone a friend? So your orders have stopped coming, haven't they? Michael no longer responding to his loyal lieutenant's pleas? Guess you're not big brother's favorite anymore."

"Be silent!" She shouted, but Dean only laughed louder. "Be silent, you are _nothing_. Just a miserable human piece of filth that got lucky enough to..."

"And you're an angel." Dean spat. "An angel running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Don't know yet how royally fucked you are. Don't know what to do, don't know where to go, scrambling to figure out how to do what you _think_ needs to be done, even though you’re not sure. How incredibly _human."_

Samael froze, staring at him, then lunged forward, ripping the tubules from his head and jerking the collar off. Dean cried out in pain, unable to stop himself, and then she was hauling him out of the chair, dragging him down the hall.

"I know what needs to be done." Samael was saying, her grip on his broken wing tightening, and Dean couldn’t stop a pitiful whimper. "I know. It has been done before. We have been betrayed by those we thought our brothers, and we know how to deal with them. I will place Castiel alongside the last to betray us, but first, I will tear your Grace from you. Piece by _piece._ "

She ripped open a door that had been seamlessly folded into the wall, and Dean found himself flung inside a prison cell, his back connecting with a pillar that rose through the center of the small room.

"When I am done with you," He heard her say from the doorway. "You will beg for Hell."

The door slammed shut, and he heard locks falling into place. What was worse, however, was the sudden weight that slammed down on him. His Grace was gone, flown from him as if it had never been, and all the weight of his body and the pain slammed into him as the binding sigils on the room left him completely and unbearingly human.

Dean turned onto his side, coughing up blood, the wounds that should've killed him only bleeding more so. He almost wished to die, but had a feeling no Reaper would find him there.

_Dean..._

He lifted his head, looking around, but he couldn't see anything in the darkness. He put a hand on the pillar behind him, struggling to stand.

_I have heard your prayer. I would like to help._

"Where are you?" Dean gasped.

_Here beside you._

Dean turned, keeping one hand on the pillar, slowly circling it.

"Where?"

Dean frowned, lowering his head, then he slowly turned to look at the pillar. He felt along its surface until his fingers brushed over a face.

"Dude...are you...are you an angel?"

_Yes. I have been imprisoned here since the Fall of Man."_

"Boy, you must have fucked up big time." Dean breathed.

_Yes...I...I allowed Lucifer into the Garden of Eden._

"Son of a bitch..."

_I did not know his intentions. I loved Adam and Eve. I was their guardian. They would call to me to come and play, but they did not know the sight of my true form would destroy them. They were kind, and I repaid them by betraying them. I have begged my brothers to let me serve penance, but they will not release me._

Dean nodded, swallowing hard as he tried to gather his bearings. He couldn’t see anything, but he knew that Samael would be coming back for him. She wouldn’t stop. They had to get out of there, and maybe his best chance was the fact that she would always underestimate him. Abomination or not, he could be pretty smart when he tried.

"All right, man. Well, my husband, er, mate...Castiel? He's pretty big on giving guys second chances, so how about you and me figure a way to get out of here? You and me, in it to win it."

_Yes...yes, I would like that._

"So what do I call you, big guy?"

_My name is Gadreel._

 

* * *

 

 

The entire world had been shaken to its core by the broadcast of the angels. All eyes were on the world leaders, and within hours, they had held a video conference with each other. The first five minutes of it were pure silence as they all looked at each other, uncertain how to explain, or even if what had happened could be explained.

Now it was close to midnight, twenty four hours after the broadcast, and the President of the United States sat alone in his office, staring forward at his pen cup.

His wife came in and wrapped her arms around him from behind his chair, kissing his temple. "You don't have to make a decision tonight."

"A lot of scared people are looking at me to make it right." He said softly. "To tell them it's okay."

"All the more reason to wait. Come to bed."

He nodded and started to stand, but the door suddenly burst in, admitting his Chief of Staff. "Mr. President, we have new information about the broadcast. You need to see this."

He sighed and nodded. "I'll be back, love,"

She nodded and kissed him lightly. "Don't forget to look in on the kids."

He nodded and quickly followed his Chief of Staff downstairs into their secure briefing room.

"Mr. President," He heard his Defense Secretary say, and he nodded. He'd been nodding quite a bit tonight. He took a slow deep breath, shaking slightly.

"You have the full report prepared, Johnson?"

"You said not to present it until I did, Mr. President," Johnson smiled and he flopped down in his seat.

"Give it to me then. Just make sure you lube it up first."

Johnson laughed, but then shook himself, straightening up. A screen behind him flickered into life.

"Last night, approximately five minutes after the broadcast, there were two coordinated attacks. One here in Las Vegas, and one here outside of Sioux Falls. Both were carried out by forces loyal to the 'angel' known as Samael, who our intelligence tells us is also responsible for the broadcast."

He nodded, sliding a hand through his hair. "What about the other angel? Castiel?"

"Other than the video that was released by Dean Winchester, we have nothing. Though we have unconfirmed reports that he was seen in Las Vegas last night during the attack. He was seen with Dean Winchester and another angel. We have a photo, it's a little blurry since it's was taken on a cell phone but..."

It flashed up onto the screen, showing the man they knew as Dean Winchester holding a toddler, and another very sick-looking man with dark hair and blue eyes stood before him, lifting a hand to his head.

Slowly, every eye turned to look at the president, and he took a deep breath, leaning back in his chair.

"Fuck me."

Johnson swallowed hard, and brought another clip up. "Facial recognition brought two possible matches for his 'vessel.'"

There were two pictures on the screen. One they all had seen before, and the other was of a man named Jimmy Novak, reported missing several years before from Pontiac, Illinois.

"Well then," The president took a deep breath. "Anything of interest about him?"

"He supposedly died in a car crash with his family a few years ago. Only his six month old survived, and shortly after, the boy disappeared from the hospital with a man claiming to be his father."

"Lemme guess...guy looked just like him?" The president smiled.

"Yes, sir,"

The president nodded. "What do we know about Dean Winchester?"

"Him and his brother, Sam, were at the top of the FBI's Most Wanted list until they were believed to have been killed in an explosion in 2009. Then, they showed up again in 2011 and apparently went on a killing spree, which was shortly followed by another unusual death at the local sheriff's office. We've had no other confirmed contact with them since."

"You said they were wanted before the killing spree. What about before?"

"Credit card fraud, theft, breaking and entering, grave desecration, and they were suspects in a number of unusual homicides,"

"So...trust the homicidal brothers..." The president murmured, twirling a pencil between his fingers. "Or the angel that broadcasts horror movies into our heads."

The room was silent, and after a long moment, the Secretary of Defense leaned forward.

"Mr. President?"

He leaned forward and closed his eyes, resting his mouth against his folded hands.

"I think I'm going to sleep on it."

 

* * *

 

 

There was a voice on the air, someone familiar, as if in a dream. Someone who had cradled him when his Grace was still being formed in the birthdust of a star,  someone who had first spoken and called his name out into the universe, breathing life into him.

_Open your eyes, Castiel._

Light flood into his Grace, harsh and pure, and Castiel opened his eyes, looking around. He could feel the Grace of dozens of angels around him, all connected to him, feeding him just as they would have in Heaven and an injured brother returned to them. His fledgling, nestled warm inside his Grace, hummed in contentment, and he slowly sat up. The familiar angel that had taken his hand before was sitting next to him.

"Easy there, Cassie," he purred, offering Castiel a glass of water. "You were quite tore up."

"Balthazar?" Castiel breathed. "But I...you..."

"I know," Balthazar said, his normally confident drawl somehow shaken. "But I'm back now. Don't ask me how. Maybe Dad knew you needed me."

Castiel flung himself forward, wrapping his arms around Balthazar, pressing his face into his neck, pouring all the unspoken regret into his grip. "Brother."

"I know." Balthazar murmured, wrapping his arms around Castiel and slowly smoothing a hand through his hair. "I know."

Castiel sobbed against his neck. "I can't feel Dean. I don't know where he is."

"Samael has him." Balthazar explained. "We still hear whispers from her angels. A few of us stayed connected in order to spy."

Castiel pulled back, hesitant to release him, his confusion showing in his eyes. "A few of you...?"

Balthazar sat back, waving a hand to gesture behind him. "All of the angels that you spoke to. We didn't know where to take you, so we gathered here."

"All of you? Where is here?"

"We're in the Vatican catacombs," Balthazar grinned, and Castiel couldn't help but laugh. "There's enough warding down here from the ancient days to keep us hidden well enough for the time being. I don't think the Cardinals were too happy about us being down here, but it only took a couple displays to get them on board."

Castiel groaned, laying back down. "Balthazar, what is wrong with me?"

"What do you mean?"

"I see...everything." Castiel breathed, covering his eyes. "And every when. All of it, it pours into my mind, driving me mad."

"Perpetual sensory overload," Balthazar murmured, and Castiel looked up at him.

"Yes. Yes, that's exactly what it is." Castiel breathed. "I feel like I'm breaking apart."

"It's because you're stuck, Cassie," Balthazar pulled him up into his arms, much as he had when they were fledglings, and Castiel curled comfortably against him. "You're stuck between being young and growing up, and it's causing a system breakdown. You have to move forward."

Castiel shook his head. "I can't...I can't, brother, I have to wait. I have to wait for the right moment."

"Why?"

"Because..." Castiel moaned softly. "Because that's the only way they'll all see. I have to make them see."

He seemed to grow more frantic, but Balthazar shushed him gently, sliding his fingers through Castiel's hair. "Sh, it's all right, love, I understand. Whatever you need to do is fine."

Castiel slowly lifted his head, looking at Balthazar and smiling. "I'm going to have a fledgling, Balthy. Dean and I are going to have a fledgling."

"Let's go win this war, then," Balthazar smiled, kissing Castiel's forehead. "And give the little darling a perfect world to grow up in."

Castiel started to get up, but Balthazar shook his head, laying him back down again.

"You rest. You need it."

"Balthazar..." Castiel breathed weakly. "I...I don't know where Dean is."

"I'll find him, brother. Just rest."

Castiel closed his eyes, letting Balthazar carry him forward as he had so many times before. He slept, exhausted beyond his own madness, and he wrapped shorn wings around himself.

_I love you, Dean._

Time passed around him, and he watched it all through his tired Grace as it knitted itself back together. Balthazar returned to him several times to check on him, and when he returned with Inais and Briathos, Castiel forced himself to sit up, folding his wings back.

“Did you find Dean? The children?”

Briathos slowly shook his head. “No, Castiel. I saw Dean being taken by Naomi, who remains loyal to Samael.”

Castiel let his head fall forward into his hands, fighting back the endless despair that threatened to consume him.

“I’ve been trying to work with Bartholomew to figure out where Zadkiel took the children, but his Grace is shattered. I think Zadkiel tried to tell him before he was killed. I found numbers, but I can’t figure out what they coordinate to.”

Curling his wings forward, Castiel slid his fingers into his hair. He stood in a flourish, pushing past the three of them, and he walked upwards through the catacombs. His steps quickly turned into strides, and soon he was running, flying up until he reached the Vatican itself. The Swiss Guards and Cardinals milling through the grand entryway stepped to the side as he ran out, eyes widened when three men appeared and chased after him.

In the crowd outside, Castiel found himself jostled back and forth, and finally he fell to his knees before the fountain. “Am I to give all I am? All I have?”

_Am I to lose everything? Is this why I see nothing for myself beyond this last battle?_

“Castiel,” Balthazar said gently, kneeling down next to him, and the crowd had started to part around them. “All is not lost yet. We’ll find them. If we must search every place on Earth by hand, we will.”

“I can’t do this,” Castiel whispered. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can,” Balthazar smiled. “Because I remember the angel who, when he was told to go back, he pressed forward. Because he wouldn’t leave one man behind who didn’t deserve his fate. That angel changed the world. You can do this, Castiel, because you’ve done it before.”

Cries rose up from the crowd as several guards came running outside, catching up with the four angels as Balthazar helped Castiel onto his feet. A few of the Vatican police were with them.

“Where did you come from?”

“We’ve been stationed in the catacombs for a few hours,” Inais answered. “But we’ll be moving soon.”

“How did you get down there without anyone knowing?” the officer demanded, and Balthazar just grinned.

“We’re angels,” He purred, stepping forward, and flicking the officer’s gun away with a touch of his finger. “We do what we like. But now, we’re going to go save the world. Right, Cassie?”

Castiel smiled weakly. “Okay.”

Balthazar turned and winked at the officer before all four angels disappeared. Immediately after, hundreds of lights could be seen rising from beneath the Vatican and fading into the distance.

 

* * *

 

 

Quick steps echoed through the halls of the prison as Samael and Naomi walked towards the cell where Samael had thrown Dean the night before.

“Have you had any luck finding the children?” Samael murmured, but Naomi shook her head.

“We have patrols searching all probable locations, but wherever Zadkiel hid them, he hid them well.”

Samael slowed, staring down the hall at the door leading to Dean’s cell. “So...we have nothing.”

“Captain,” Naomi said softly. “He doesn’t know we don’t have them.”

Samael nodded and laid a hand on Naomi’s shoulder. “Thank you for your loyalty, lieutenant.”

As she stepped away, Naomi closed her eyes, drawing her hands to her chest for a moment.

“Father, please forgive me,” she whispered, turning and walking back to her office.

Samael pulled the door open and saw Dean laying at the base of the central pillar which was where the Betrayer had been concealed for millennia. She had hoped the presence would be too much for the tormented abomination to withstand, and it looked like it had worked. Dean barely lifted his head when she walked across the room, grabbing him by one broken stump of a wing, and dragging him forward towards the edge of the cell.

She snapped her fingers, and chains formed themselves around Dean’s wrists, sigils engraved into the silver bands to hold the Nephilim firm. As she dragged him out of the cage, Dean groaned. She paused, for it was not a groan of pain, but of one being released after so many years. A sneer curled her lips, and she pulled Dean up to face her.

“Do not get comfortable in your release, whore. Your nightmare is just beginning.”

“No…” Dean said softly, but there was something off about his voice, and he slowly lifted his head. The chains that should have held him fast snapped as if they were mere twigs and Dean struck her across the jaw, sending her crashing back through the hall. When she sat up, she saw Grace filling the Michael Sword, healing and spreading enormous wings, far beyond that of any Nephilim.

“It is your fears that will soon come to pass.” Gadreel said, his voice as sure as the unerring walls around him.

Several more angels crashed into the hallway, and Gadreel turned, raising a hand and lifting them all, tossing them back. He walked over to Samael, looking down on her.

“No blade has touched my mind, Samael,” Gadreel breathed. “I am more than just your Betrayer. I am the Archive. I am the _Truth._ ”

Samael's eyes widened, and she straightened up. “What are you talking about?”

She spun around just as Naomi and several more angels came running in. “Naomi!”

Naomi was captivated by the sight of Gadreel standing before them, her head slowly turning back to look at Samael.

“Yes, Captain?” she murmured.

“What is he talking about? What Archive? What Truth?”

Naomi took a deep breath, looking back at Gadreel. “I had my orders, but when my hand lay above him, I could not take from him what I took from every other angel. I could not take the truth from my mate.”

Samael slowly turned, and her gaze followed Naomi as she walked forward, passing Samael and Gadreel held a hand out to her. She took it and laid a hand on his chest as he wrapped an arm around her, holding her close, their foreheads touching.

“Naomi…” Gadreel breathed. “I have missed you so much.”

Samael was staring at her, her wings trembling slightly, and Naomi turned.

“Samael,” She said, her voice clear though it barely rose above a whisper. “Every angel. Every single one...you...Castiel...Michael ordered me to cut part of their memory out and replace it with something else, with the story _he_ gave me. He even...he cut it out of me. The only angel that is completely untouched is Gadreel.”

“It’s not true,” Samael breathed. “No, Michael has _protected_ us. Kept us from the torment of the Earth, from humanity…”

“Humanity is not meant to be perfect.” Gadreel said firmly, gripping Naomi’s hand. “It never was. Trying to force perfection on humanity is like trying to enforce free will on us. We are not meant to live as each other, but to Balance one another. The Nephilim…”

“The Nephilim were an abomination! A plague!” Samael screeched. “We destroyed them for the good of Heaven and Earth alike!”

“Even Gabriel’s own daughter? Whom Michael slew with his own hand?”

Samael’s eyes widened, and she covered her mouth. “It’s not true. It can’t be. It _can’t_ be!”

Naomi took a step forward, reaching for her. “Samael…it’s okay…”

Gadreel saw the blade drop into Samael’s hand before Naomi did and grabbed his mate, hauling her back into his arms. The blade slashed by them, cutting into his arm, but Gadreel didn’t pause to notice. They both ran backwards, and Gadreel flung two more angels that ran to stop them back to crash into Samael. The moment they were out of the prison, they both flew, flitting from Heaven to Heaven until they were certain they’d lost their pursuers.

Naomi immediately reached up and tugged her hair free, brown curls falling around her shoulders, and she pulled off her blazer, tossing it onto the grass. A small smile started to pull on Gadreel’s lips, and she reached up, pulling him down into a hungry kiss. Gadreel pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her, and just as quickly pushed her away. Naomi frowned, looking up at him, and Gadreel slowly brought his hands back to himself, looking just as surprised as she was. Then he blushed, looking sheepish.

“I...apologize, that was my vessel’s intent, not my own.”

“Ah,” Naomi nodded. “I did torture him.”

“Yes, he is...less than pleased with you.” Gadreel murmured. “I will not repeat what he is saying, it is...vulgar.”

Both angels blinked before Naomi could respond, and turned their head.

“That’s Sam Winchester.” Gadreel murmured and Naomi looked up at him.

“The South Gate.”

Gadreel stretched his wings and they both flew fast to the South Gate, landing hand in hand. Feet from the barely closed Gate lay both Sam and Gabriel. Sam was curled in on his side next to Gabriel, breathing shakily, and Gabriel was not breathing at all.

“Naomi, take the Gate!” Gadreel ordered, but the words had barely left his mouth before his eyes flashed blue and he seemed to slouch slightly.

“Sam!” Dean shouted, racing forward, and he skidded to his knees next to Sam, turning him over. Sam blinked, looking up at him through bloodshot eyes, though he started to smile at the sight of Dean. Dean felt bile curling at the back of his throat when he realized that his brother’s side was nothing more than a gaping hole where his arm had once been. He brushed his fingers through Sam’s hair and pulled him close. “Shhh, Sammy, I’m here. I’m here.”

Naomi pushed the Gate shut, locking in the powerful sigils that Gabriel had started but had been unable to complete. “Where are the Guardians? Baruchiel! Chayyliel! Come forth!”

Dean looked up at her cries, cradling Sam against him. “Gads….Gadreel, you’ve got to fix Sam.”

“No!” Sam gasped, gripping his hand. “No. I’m okay. It’s just an arm, I’m okay.”

“It’s not just an arm! You’re bleeding out, man!” Dean shouted, and then his eyes gleamed once more. Sam blinked at the change, but gripped his hand only tighter.

“Fix Gabriel.” he said firmly. “Fix him first.”

Gadreel stretched out a hand over Gabriel, then frowned. “I do not have the strength to heal him, and restore your arm.”

“I don’t need two arms.” Sam breathed. “Can you just...just patch me up as best you can? But heal him first.”

Gadreel nodded, and laid his hand on Gabriel’s chest. Grace shone from them both for a tense moment, and when he pulled away, color flooded back into Gabriel’s face though he didn’t wake.

“That is all I can do for him.” Gadreel said, the strain causing his voice to waver as he lifted a hand to Sam’s forehead. With a touch, the wound sealed over and the blood disappeared, though he remained without a left arm. “And that is all I can do for you, for now.”

Sam nodded, closing his eyes, and he rolled out of Dean’s arms, crawling back to Gabriel and pulling him up against his chest. He kissed the top of his head and pressed his face into Gabriel’s neck, holding him tightly.

Gadreel stood, turning to look at the Gate and where Naomi stood behind it.

_What is it? What’s wrong?_

Gadreel turned his head at Dean’s voice, and slowly walked to Naomi’s side.

“Leviathan are coming.”

 

* * *

 

 

The president sat in one of the many parlors in the White House, going through his phone and looking at pictures of his family. Their fate rested on the decision that now kept him from sleep. He brushed his fingers over the face of his children, and slowly stood, pacing around the room as he had been doing for hours.

He personally didn’t want anything to do with the angel that felt it necessary to broadcast such horrible images into the mind of every single human on Earth. But the other...that picture of him in Vegas with Dean Winchester...he didn’t look like someone that was trying to take over the world. He just looked...broken. Broken and weary, as if he couldn’t bring himself to stand one more day, but the world didn’t leave him a choice. He had to fight.

Slowly, he went to the door of the parlor and closed it, turning the lock into place. He went to the other entrances and locked them as well, then unplugged the security cameras.

“Okay,” He said slowly, sitting down on one of the couches. “I...I haven’t done this in a while, but...Dear Castiel...I am the President of the United States, and I would like to...to meet with you regarding this war between you and Samael. I need to know how it affects my country and my people...my family...If you would…”

A soft, whispering sound filled the air, like the rush of a thousand birds taking flight, and then he looked up at the feeling of someone watching him. He jumped to his feet at the sight of his own face staring back at him.

“Castiel?”

“Misha Collins.” Castiel murmured. “I feel we should talk also.”

“You’re not...not weirded out by this?” Misha pointed between them, and Castiel tilted his head, confused.

“What...oh, no, I am not. This is not my face, though I’ve become accustomed to it.”

“That’s right. It’s Jimmy Novak you’re, uh, wearing. Sit...please.” Misha gestured to a chair as he sat down himself, running a hand nervously through his hair.

“Jimmy was a good friend, and I miss him.” Castiel said slowly as he sat down.

“Do you know...why we look alike?” Misha asked.

“Of course.” Castiel nodded, meeting Misha’s gaze easily. “You were twins. Separated at birth because the younger, you, had a lung defect that required a surgery that your parents could not afford. If they gave you up as a ward of the state, the state would pay for the surgery. After you recovered, a discrepancy in paperwork caused you to be placed up for adoption instead of your birth parents notified. You were adopted by a young infertile couple, and soon became interested in debate and politics. You became president. Jimmy became an ad salesman.”

“No,” Misha shook his head. “I became president, and Jimmy became the vessel to an angel. A pretty important one from what I’ve heard.”

“So I have been told.” Castiel’s lips twisted into a strained smile, and he looked down at his own folded hands. “You asked for counsel with me. What would you like to know?”

Misha sat forward. “This battle...it’s for Earth?”

“In a way, yes,” Castiel explained. “The battle is for control of Heaven, which directly affects life on Earth. If I win, life on Earth continues much as it is. It will progress and develop and the angels will be there to assist when necessary. If Samael wins, she will release Michael and Lucifer from their Cage and the final war between Good and Evil will begin, using Earth as its battlefield.”

“The Apocalypse.” Misha murmured.

“We stopped it once.” Castiel’s gaze became nostalgic, almost wistful. “Just the four of us. Dean, Sam, Bobby, and myself...we stopped the Apocalypse and trapped Lucifer and Michael both in the Cage beneath Hell. This led to a civil war in Heaven, at first between myself and the archangel, Raphael, and now between myself and Samael.”

Misha nodded, tapping his fingers against his lips. “They both wanted to restart where Lucifer and Michael left off?”

“Yes. As Dean said, they wanted to jump start the Apocalypse. Bring about peace on Earth and in Heaven, but millions of people would have died. We didn’t think bringing about the end of times was worth the price.”

“You said you stopped the Apocalypse? When was that?”

“In the year you call 2010.”

“And your fight with Raphael?”

“The year following.”

“So it’s been six years since then.” Misha said, his brow furrowed as he thought. “What happened between then and now?”

Castiel lowered his head. “In my desperation to defeat Raphael, I unleashed a foe that could not be stopped by any means which with we were familiar. It spread across this land like a virus, and came very close to taking over. We defeated it, but the price was dear. When we sent Dick Roman back to Purgatory…”

“Dick Roman!?” Misha sat up. “He was a...a demon?”

“No,” Castiel chuckled. “If he had been a demon, the resolution would’ve been simple. Dick Roman was a Leviathan. Older than angels and vile, they are creatures consumed by a neverending hunger. They sought to turn humanity into little more than cattle.”

Misha cradled his head in his hands. “You said very close…”

“Closer than you would wish to know. After we defeated him, the blast radius of the weapon we used pulled Dean and myself into Purgatory as well. Dean managed to escape, and a few months later, so did I. Then over the course of the following years, we lived our lives, as close to at peace as we could be. Then Samael…”

Castiel took a deep breath, his eyes glimmering. “Samael attacked our home. Destroyed it. She drew us into a war we never wanted to fight. I never had a choice. I have to fight. If I don't, she and Michael will destroy everything. Heaven, Hell, Earth..."

He leaned forward, letting his head fall into his hands, and Misha watched in horror as the angel's shoulders began to shake.

"I don't know where my mate is." Castiel whispered. "He was last seen with a member of Samael's inner circle, so no doubt, Dean is now in her hands. She'll torture him in pursuit of finding me. I don't know where my son is. I don't know where Bobby or Sam are, or Crowley, or even if they're alive. In one day, we went from maybe having a chance...to nothing. I have a handful of angels and an even slighter handful of humans willing to fight. I don't know what to do."

He leaned back in his chair, shaking. "You asked me what you should do. Well, I can't see a future where I win at this point, so I'd tell everyone to grab as much food and water as they can and find a place to hide and survive. Avoid major cities. Test strangers with holy water and the word 'Christo' to check for demons. I'll show you some angelic warding symbols that you can use to prevent angels from finding you."

"You're giving up."

Castiel turned his head to look at Misha. "I have fought many wars, and each time, I lost more and more of myself. Now...I have lost all that I hold dear to me. I have nothing left."

"Cas...can I call you Cas?"

Castiel nodded, smiling slightly. "Most people do."

A smile flickered across Misha's face, but then he was leaning forward, touching Castiel's arm.

"Cas...you and I...we're not that different. We both have so many people looking to us for guidance. Their lives, their fates, they depend on the decisions we make. That's not a load anyone can bear alone. I have the Joint Chiefs, Congress, my wife...they help me bear the load so I can make the decisions I have to. You say you never got to choose to fight...well, here's your chance. No matter what you do right now, I am going to fight."

Castiel lifted his head, frowning at the man. "Why?"

"Because these are my people." Misha grinned. "Because if I don't fight, who will? Because my wife and my son and my daughter deserve to grow up in a world where they're free to be whatever they want to be. Not hiding from the ones that are supposed to be protecting them. So I'm going to fight. I don't know who will fight with me, but I'm going to fight. You can take a break. You can walk away. Let Earth fight for Earth for once. Or keep fighting. Because now, you won't be fighting alone."

A fondness crept into Castiel's gaze, and he slowly smiled with a warmth that hadn't found him in months.

"You remind me a great deal of Jimmy."

Misha smiled. "What do the missing kids look like? If your methods aren't working, maybe ours will."

Castiel nodded, and both men stood at the same time. Misha laughed and shook his head. "Oh, and this is a personal curiosity. What were you and Dean doing in Vegas?"

"Getting married." Castiel blushed. "He wanted to before..."

"So...you two adopted Jimmy's little boy?"

Castiel nodded. "He's one of the missing."

"Let's get going then."

 

* * *

 

 

Sam hurried after Gadreel in the darkness of the tunnel. Gadreel was telling him that they were now almost a mile beneath the South Gate of Heaven. Sam couldn't see anything, however, below them or above them. For creatures of light, Gadreel had tried to explain, they didn't necessarily need surfaces to walk on. Sam had just stopped him then, and Dean probably had helped a bit. Sam still couldn't believe that Dean had allowed Gadreel to use him as a vessel, even for as short a period as possible.

Now Gadreel was leading him to a secret tunnel that he had said only Reapers and Rit Zien had used in the past. He only knew of it because he'd been assigned with Baruchiel and Chayyliel to guard the South Gate and once had to assist Ephraim in carrying Baruchiel from Purgatory.

Sam was getting used to his body's new center of gravity, though he still stumbled a bit as he ran after Gadreel.

"Here," Gadreel said softly, and he took Sam's hand. The next second, they were on the surface.

"I can sense Baruchiel and Chayyliel's distress." Gadreel murmured, and Sam nodded.

"I really didn't want to be back here so soon."

"We need reinforcements."

"I know."

The two spread out, but never out of sight of the other. Gadreel called out to his brothers through the angelic radio that they shared, but Sam was cut down to only his eyes and ears. He felt along the tree trunks, praying to the two lost angels. Yet, it was when his fingers touched something in the ever bitter darkness that was definitely not wood did he realize he was upon them.

He blinked, his eyes trying to adjust. Behind him, the sun began to break through the clouds, and illuminated the clearing in which he was standing. Sam gasped, backing up until his back collided with a tree.

Enormous obsidian obelisks rose from the earth, four in total. On each one was speared an angel wing, and the two angels hung between them, suspended by their wings.

"Ga..." Sam covered his mouth then prayed. _Gadreel!_

Instantly, the angel was at his side.

"Father, have mercy," He heard the angel say, and Sam looked around. He saw there was what looked like an old oak and quickly began to climb. It was easier than he expected it to be with only one arm, and when he reached the height of the obelisks, he slowly walked out on one of the thicker branches.

"Hey." He called softly to the nearest angel. "Can you hear me?"

At first there was no response, but then the angel's eyes flickered, and she slowly raised her head.

"They...they dragged us from our post..." She whispered.

"That's okay. It's okay." Sam smiled. "We're gonna get you down from here."

"Who are you to forgive us?" The male angel across the clearing spoke, and Sam looked up.

"I'm Sam Winchester, and I'm Gabriel's mate. Now let's stop worrying about the stuff we can't control, and fix what we can, okay?"

He reached out, swaying dangerously on the tree limb, and hooked his arm under her wing. It took all of his strength to push it up over the spire at the top, but when he did, the female angel raised her wing and brought it down hard, the momentum giving her enough height to rip her other wing free. Between her and Gadreel, they quickly freed the other angel.

When Sam got down from the tree, he heard the male angel speaking to Gadreel angrily and he hurried over.

"I would have preferred to remain displayed up there than be rescued by a traitor such as you."

"Hey!" Sam snapped. "I don't care what's going on here, we've got bigger problems! The Leviathan are rushing the South Gate. Isn't it your jobs to protect it?"

They frowned, but both nodded.

"This way."

Gadreel ran back towards the entrance, and once again, Sam found himself ripped back into the void beneath Heaven's Gates. It twisted his stomach, but he refused to hold them back. It went faster the second time, and then Sam found himself running on marble once more. Naomi had held the Gate, but Baruchiel and Chayyliel each ran for a crumbling tower to either side of the Gate. Sam could almost feel their Grace prickling along his skin as it flared, and what was once crumbling stone became shining alabaster. The towers' peaks burst into blue flame, alighting the walls that Sam previously had not been able to see lining Heaven's borders.

"The Gate is a symbol," Gadreel said softly. "As are the walls. The Veil dividing Heaven and Purgatory is actually a few feet from the gate. The Leviathan could never cross the Veil until one was invited into Heaven."

"That's why one of them pretended to be me." Sam breathed. "So Gabriel would let them in."

Gadreel nodded. "I believe it is time for you and your brother to return to Earth."

"What!? No!" Sam shouted. "You need help! The four of you can't hold the Gate alone!"

"They're not alone."

Sam spun at the familiar voice. "...Mom..."

Mary grinned as the other hunters spilled out towards the gate, and Ellen winked at Sam as she passed. Ash was waving a cowboy hat, and even Victor nodded to Sam.

"Mom..." Sam breathed. "You're here."

She leaned forward and pulled him close, hugging him tightly. "I love you, Sammy, and I am so proud of you. But you have to go now. We have this, and you and your brother have a bigger battle to fight."

Pulling back, she kissed his forehead. "Remember, you're a Campbell."

Sam chuckled. "Okay, Mom."

"Go, Sam." Gadreel smiled. "I will send Dean and Gabriel with you."

"You too, mate of mine," Naomi said softly, touching Gadreel's arm. "Castiel needs you. We can't lose you."

For a moment, it looked like Gadreel might argue, but then he walked across to the makeshift bed where they had lain Gabriel. He easily lifted the archangel into his arms, then turned, walking back to Sam.

"I will take us as close to Castiel as I safely can. When we get to Earth, I will seek out another vessel and then rejoin you."

Sam nodded, laying his hand on Gadreel's shoulder and leaning forward to press a soft kiss to Gabriel's hair. Gadreel shared a look with Naomi before he stretched his wings, flying them to Earth.

The first thing that Sam heard when they landed was a flurry of startled shouts. Sam blinked as he looked around the elegant parlor, several men in suits pulling out guns at the sight of them. Gadreel turned and laid Gabriel on the nearby couch, and in a flash of Grace, he was gone.

Dean straightened up, holding his hands out peacefully. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, guys...we come in peace. Seriously.”

“Dean…” Sam murmured, walking back towards him. “Where are we?”

“He flew us to the fucking White House…” Dean growled out, reaching for his brother.

“Holy shit…”

Dean felt his own Grace swelling, Gadreel having healed the damage that his mate had done. Even his wings folded around him, and he extended one to protect Sam. A door opened on the far wall, and Dean’s eyes widened at the man before him.

“Cas?”

“Uh…” the man looked hesitant to answer, taking a step back, but then he was shoved forward as someone else pushed past him.

“DEAN!”

Dean found himself suddenly juggling an armful of angel, and he laughed as Castiel wrapped both legs around his waist, peppering his face with kisses. He held Castiel up as the angel finally found his lips, kissing him hungrily. Castiel raked his fingers through Dean’s hair, and Dean could feel his wings trembling.

“I thought I lost you…” Castiel whispered. “I couldn’t feel you. Not even a little. You were just gone.”

“This bitch called Naomi was trying to cut us apart.” Dean murmured against his lips, and from Castiel’s horrified gasp, he knew he was right in telling Gatsby to back the fuck off. He didn’t want her lips anywhere near his. “Then Samael threw me in a cell with Gats...I mean, Gadreel.”

“Gadreel!?” Castiel yelped, and Dean slowly let him down though he didn’t let him out of his arms.

“Yeah, I know he's like the Betrayer or something, but get this,” Dean hurried on before Castiel could interrupt him further. “Naomi said that Michael ordered her to alter all the angels’ memories. She didn’t say what she took out, but whatever it was, it made them afraid of Earth. They all hate humanity, but they’re not supposed to. Gadreel was the only one she didn’t cut because he’s her mate. He called himself the Archive.”

Castiel watched him with wide eyes as he spoke, resting his hands on Dean’s shoulders, his Grace buzzing against Dean’s, checking him just to be sure he was all right.

“Dean…” Castiel breathed. “There’s another Grace…”

Dean offered him a sheepish smile. “I let Gadreel use me as a vessel so we could escape.”

Castiel closed his eyes, clenching his jaw, but he nodded after a moment. Dean couldn’t help but grin, dipping down slightly to get under Castiel’s head.

“Hey, are you jealous, Mr. Super-Powerful-Archangel-in-Training?”

Castiel blushed and shoved him lightly. “Ass.”

Dean laughed, but Castiel’s smile melted when he saw Sam and Gabriel. “Oh no…Sam…”

Sam looked up at Castiel knelt next to him, and Dean glanced over at the man he’d thought was Castiel.

“So, um...you are?”

“Misha Collins,” Misha laughed, extending a hand and gripping Dean’s firmly. “President. Apparently, I’m Jimmy’s long lost twin with a lung defect.”

Dean nodded, swallowing hard. “Jimmy was a good man.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Is everything all right, sir?”

Both men turned to face the agent asking, and Misha waved a hand, almost rolling his eyes at the question.

“I’m pretty sure that if these gentlemen wanted to kill me, I’d be dead already.”

Castiel slid a hand over Sam’s side where the wound had been healed over. “Leviathan.”

Sam nodded, running a hand over Gabriel’s hair. “They got Gabriel too. I don’t know what happened to him, but Gadreel said he’d done all he could. I can feel him, but just barely.”

Castiel stood and sat on the edge of the couch where Gabriel was laying and laid a hand on his forehead. His Grace glowed dimly beneath his palm, and Misha leaned around Dean to watch. Dean couldn’t help but smile.

“First time?” he grinned.

“Yeah, I’m a supernatural virgin,” Misha breathed. “Though Castiel’s disappearing act was quite the piece of work as well.”

“Don’t worry.” Dean sighed. “It only gets worse from here on in.”

Castiel pulled his hand back and shook his head. “He’s hidden himself within his Grace. I can’t reach him. Gadreel healed all of his wounds, but only time will bring Gabriel out.”

“Can I reach him?” Sam breathed. “I’m his mate, I should be able to reach him.”

Castiel looked up at him sadly. “He’s too deep. If you were an angel, perhaps.”

“I could do what Dean did. With you.” Sam whispered.

“Sam, no.” Castiel snapped. “What Dean and I did nearly killed both of us. There’s a far greater chance that you will simply self-destruct than replicate our results.”

“I’m a Winchester.” Sam clenched his jaw. “Odds don’t apply to us.”

“Sam…” Castiel reached out a gripped his shoulder. “I need you here. I need your help. Nothing can hurt Gabriel right now. We’ll keep him safe.”

Sam looked up when he felt the arrival of another angel, and looked up to see a scruffy man in a dark red jacket and jeans. Castiel stood, frowning.

“Gadreel.”

“Castiel.” Gadreel murmured. “I am here to help.”

“Dean told me you call yourself the Archive now.”

“If I am the only angel untouched, then I am the only record of what truly came to pass before Michael usurped the throne.”

Castiel nodded and stepped forward, raising a hand, and Gadreel lowered his head in submission as Castiel pressed his thumb into the center of his forehead. Both angels glowed for a moment, and then Castiel stepped back, nodding.

“We need to...to reconvene after the attack. Misha,”

Castiel stepped back around Gadreel and Dean to where Misha was watching them.

“Misha...I have one request of you.”

Misha grinned. “Name it.”

 

The press had been waiting for the White House to call a conference since the broadcast had first been felt. Now they sat on the edges of their seats, watching the door where he would come out as his Chief of Staff spoke to them, telling them that the President would take questions following his announcement.

When he took the stand, laying his notes on the podium, he looked out at the sea of photographers and journalists.

“A few days ago, the entire world was forcefully dragged into realizing that there’s another world that exists just beyond ours. A world of supernatural creatures, some we know of and some we don’t, some which wish to kill us and some which don’t. What brings us together today is that we’ve stumbled into a war between two factions of this world. I could argue the merits of both sides, whether we should remain neutral, or if we really should do anything at all. Well, for me, the decision really is simple.

Yesterday, the group of angels we know to be responsible for the broadcast attacked our country. This garrison, led by an angel called Samael, simultaneously attacked Las Vegas, Nevada and a small town outside of Sioux Falls, South Dakota. The latter seems to be where Dean Winchester and the angel known as Castiel were gathering their resistance, and most of the casualties there were human forces that had joined them. The attack on Las Vegas was an attempt to capture Dean Winchester and Castiel while they were unguarded. The casualties in Las Vegas were reduced to a few angels, and no humans were hurt.

This evening, I was granted the privilege of being able to talk with the angel, Castiel, and get a new perspective of what is going on around us. I told you that my decision was simple. I don’t like anything that can crawl into my head and show me whatever it wants to, and I refuse to work with anything that so easily chooses to attack innocent people to pursue its end. But Castiel asked me tonight not to declare war or make any formal announcement of our alignment. He asks that I put this decision to the people. From this point on, the decision to fight is yours. The decision to hide and stay out of it is yours. Any member of the Armed Forces will be granted paid leave if they do not wish to fight. I have a team putting up a website of ways to protect yourselves if you choose to wait it out. Castiel has warned me that if he loses this battle, the Apocalypse will descend on Earth. His advice then is to stay low, stay hidden, and avoid any major cities.”

Misha took a deep breath, looking out at the stunned faces before him.

“I know it sounds a bit...out there. It took me a while to believe it myself, but...after the night I’ve had, it’s hard to refute it.”

He turned, looking out at the cameraman. “Hey, we’re live, right?”

“Yes, Mr. President.”

Misha nodded and turned, running off the stage and back through the door he’d come through. Whispers stirred through the press, but just as fast as he was gone, he came back and this time, tugging a man behind him that could’ve easily been his twin. The man shook his head at a question Misha asked him away from the microphone.

“Just give them something, Cas,” he could be heard saying in the first rows, and the whispers started again as the stranger stepped up to the podium. He swallowed nervously, placing his hands on either side of the podium, then looked out at them and they all fell quiet.

“My name is Castiel,” He said softly, but it carried across the dense silence. “I am an angel of the Lord. I will...take your questions now.”

Instantly, every journalist stood, calling out his name until Misha selected one for him.

“If you’re an angel, why were you and Dean in Vegas?”

Castiel leaned forward towards the microphone. “He and I wished to get married before we counter Samael’s advances.”

“You’re married to Dean Winchester?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you and Samael fighting?”

“A few years ago, the Winchester brothers were able to stop the Apocalypse by imprisoning the archangels Michael and Lucifer in an dimensional prison. Samael wants to release them. It is my intention to continue my efforts to protect humanity from any and all threats.”

“The Bible says that after the Apocalypse will come a lasting peace. Do you want to prevent that?”

“No peace ever comes out of bloodshed.” Castiel said firmly. “If Samael is allowed to complete her mission, thousands of angels and millions of people will die. I will not allow this to come to pass, and I will fight with my last breath if I must.”

“Can you prove it?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Show us something. Prove that you’re an angel.”

Castiel opened his mouth as if to say something, then looked back at Misha, who shrugged. He turned the other way, looking at an underdressed man who nodded to him. He took a deep breath and stepped back from the podium, wringing his hands in front of his chest. He closed his eyes, and for a moment, there was just silence. A couple journalists began filming with their phones, while others tried to get pictures.

The lights flickered above them, and the cameraman frowned as static went in and out over the picture. A blue halo began to glow around Castiel, and as the lights flared and went out, fluttering weakly, they saw the shadows of wings rising on the wall behind Castiel. Even then, just behind Castiel, sparks flew down from the lights, creating shards of lightning outlining Castiel’s wings.

Then just like that, it was over. The lights came back on and ran steadily, and Castiel stepped back to the podium, looking out over the stunned faces.

“Have I proven myself?” He said softly, and the woman who’d asked the question slowly took her seat. “Now...as much as I would love to stay and answer all of your questions, my son is still missing. Have a good day.”

He stepped down from the podium, hurrying off the platform and taking Dean’s hand, the two of them hurrying out.

Misha stepped back up to the podium, and grinned out at the press, none of whom even bothered to raise a hand.

“I look forward to tomorrow’s headlines,” Misha gave them all a salute and followed Castiel and Dean out of the room.

The journalists remained in their seats, stunned.

 

Castiel and Dean followed one of Misha’s Secret Service Agents to a side entrance where Sam was helping to load Gabriel into an ambulance.

“It’s just the right decision,” Sam breathed as they closed the doors, driving him away. “We can’t look after him, not with everything else going on.”

“He won’t be alone, Sam,” Castiel said gently. “I’ve already assigned a guard. I promise, no one will hurt him.”

Sam nodded, turning away from them and heading back into the building.

“Let’s just go.”

Dean nodded and followed him up the stairs. “Hey, I didn’t see Bobby with you when we were at the South Gate. Where did he get out?”

Sam stopped, giving his brother a disheartened look and wrapping his remaining arm around himself. “I don’t know.”

Dean blinked, looking away then back up at his brother. “No, seriously…”

“I don’t know!” Sam snapped, covering his face with his hand.

“Well, then, um...we’ll call Crowley. Crowley should know where he is, right? Since they’re...you know…” Dean looked back to Castiel, who slowly shook his head.

“We don’t know where Crowley is either. We lost him after Samael attacked the town.”

Dean tried not to let his worry show on his face, but he knew he was failing miserably when Castiel give him that pitiful look.

“No...no, he...Cas, this whole thing is riding on you and him being partners! ‘Only when the Last Nephilim and the Great Seraph stand together will all end in Balance!’”

“I know that, Dean!” Castiel shouted, and just as suddenly retreated back, wrapping his arms tightly around himself. “I’m doing the best I can…”

Dean swore and went to him, wrapping his arms around him. “I’m sorry.”

Castiel just curled slightly, letting his head fall against Dean’s chest. “I want Simon. I want him back in my arms.”

“We just have to believe they’re okay. Just remember, if we can’t find them, neither can Samael. Zadkiel hid them and protected them with his dying breath.”

Sam frowned. “Wait, the angels can’t see them?”

Castiel shook his head. “Neither can the Knights of Hell. They’ve simply disappeared.”

Sam snapped his fingers. “I know where they are.”

 

* * *

 

 

Simon looked around at the children around him, all in various states of distress. It was the first time he’d truly been around people who couldn’t see his thoughts or talk to him through other means of communication. He sat to the side with his tablet, drawing with his finger.

He felt a tap on his leg, and looked up to see one of the older children, a young girl with dark skin, her long hair folded into a braid. She waved at him, and he waved back, smiling. She sat next to him, looking at his drawing. She tapped his tablet, then mimed what he’d seen his dads do with telephones. He slowly shook his head, and she nodded.

Simon saved his drawing then brought up a blank page, drawing his dads quickly. He drew them coming down, finding them, and taking them home. She smiled and nodded, putting an arm around him. Simon blushed, looking up at her, and cleared the image, drawing another of just the two of them.

He must’ve been concentrating, because the next thing he felt was her jumping against him, and she shook him gently, pointing over to the door. She mimed scratching, and he nodded, clutching his tablet to his chest and standing. She took his hand, and all the children seemed to pull away, climbing onto the cot bed away from the door.

The door was slowly pulled back, debris and stone falling in around it, then Simon cried out joyfully, running forward.

Castiel fell to his knees on the floor of Bobby’s old panic room, buried beneath the debris of his house after the angels had attacked. Simon rushed into his arms as Castiel felt a sob break from him. Dean was right behind him, wrapping his arms around them both, and Simon felt tears running down his cheeks as he held onto his parents. His father’s music wrapped around him, and he looked up, placing his hands on Castiel’s face, looking into his eyes.

“Papa.”

Castiel nodded, and kissed his forehead. “Always, baby.” _Always._

Angels and policemen moved past them, helping to pull the children out from the wreckage. Above them, on the surface, their parents waited for them with open arms, and only after the last child was carried out did Castiel and Dean return to the surface. There were journalists waiting for them, and they were hand in hand when they came up. Simon curled his fingers into Castiel’s hair, looking around at all the people.

_Papa go home?_

Castiel looked up at him and smiled, kissing his cheek, and he squeezed Dean’s hand, stepping closer to him. He walked up to the journalists, and took a deep breath.

“The angels Zadkiel and Bartholomew gave their lives to make sure that these children were safe from the attack. They never got a chance to have a fledgling of their own, but they were good soldiers. Good angels, and I can only share in the joy of the parents who were able to reunite with their children today.”

_Now we can go home_

Simon laughed and curled his arms around his Papa’s neck, and Dean wrapped an arm around Castiel’s shoulders as they headed back to their car, two SUVs flanking them in an armed escort. Castiel fitted Simon back into his car seat and offered him Buzz, which he snatched up happily, making buzzing noises. For a moment, after Castiel got into the passenger seat beside him, Dean just sat there with the engine idling.

“Cas, how much longer? Until the big battle you keep talking about?”

Castiel tilted his head, then reached for Dean’s hand, threading their fingers together.

“Tomorrow.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	14. Helm's Deep

 

It is hard to look at the world, and see what it might have been once upon a time, when the first trees were spreading their first seeds, and the first flowers blossomed for the first bees. It is even harder to look at the most astounding features of this earth, and comprehend how they came to be. While some people struggle to believe that the grandest mountains were simply spoken into existence, would one find it more believable that they were shaped by angels building sandcastles?

Hands smoothed through the wet sand, shaping it over the clay. The dips of his fingers carved terraces into the mountain, and with drops of water he shaped tunnels.

“Cas? Castiel!”

Castiel sprinkled leaves over his castle, smiling up at Gabriel.

“Cas,” Gabriel sighed. “You said you needed to come here; said this was important.”

“It might be, one day,” Castiel sighed, but wrapped his arms around Gabriel’s shoulders as he was lifted up. “It might be.”

"I'm sure it will be, my little runaway," Gabriel's words were as quiet as the rush of the newly born oceans as they floated away to sleep among the stars.

* * *

 

Only once had the mountain been seen for what it was in the following centuries since it was molded by immortal hands. Aryan warriors found shelter in its depths as they traversed the treacherous Himalayas. They found a labyrinth of tunnels leading up through alabaster stone to the very top of the mountain, and as they continued to explore, they discovered that the entire mountain was a natural fortress. Easily defendable with a full view of the lands before it, snow-covered impassable mountains behind, they marked their maps, determined to return with a greater force to claim it as their capital.

It would never come to pass, for their maps were lost in the passage across the great mountains, and in their disorientation, they couldn't recall the way back. It was right, perhaps, because the mountain was not meant to serve its purpose so soon.

The mountain waited, fading deeper into the wilderness over time. Trees grew on the terraces, and vines traversed the tunnels. Snow filled the passage ways and turned into waterfalls in the spring. Time passed as only time can, but when the voices called it, the mountain answered.

Angelic hands had shaped it, and now they cleared the years from its stone face. They warded it, and brought weapons in. Then came more angels, setting up perimeters and guards for all hours of the day and night. One cavern was turned into an infirmary, and had only been finished for a few days before the casualties came in. A Rit Zien flocked to them, gladly taking on the pain of those too injured to fight any longer, and more came the longer they stayed. Castiel appointed an angel named Ephraim in charge of the medics, and another part of the mountain was formed into a small armory.

Then came the people. Brought by angel and by demonic means, every man and woman willing to fight was brought to the mountain. They came with weapons and armor, and the angels brought food and water for them. Demons came as well, mixing in among the angels and humans alike, under the orders of the Knights. Divided as they were by motive, their goals remained the same.

All night, Dean walked through the tunnels of the place that Inais had chosen for them to make their last stand. The angels had begun to call the mountain 'Biab'* which Castiel told him meant 'they are to stand.' It seemed appropriate. Castiel himself was in the highest terraces, discussing defensive strategies with Briathos and Gadreel. It bothered him that Castiel was only worried about defending their fortress, and not launching a counteroffensive against Samael. In hindsight, he would come to realize that Castiel's goal had never been to ward off an attack, but simply to survive the first wave.

“Dean.”

Dean turned, and Castiel folded himself right into his arms, curling against his chest, and Dean couldn’t help but wrap his arms tightly around him, kissing the top of his head.

“How is everything?” Dean asked, whispering the words into the dark curls, and he felt Castiel tremble slightly against him. Fear leaked into their bond, and Dean tightened his arms around him.

“We’ve done all that we can,” Castiel’s words were muffled against his chest. “I just...wish there was more we could do.”

“Well,” Dean shrugged, rubbing his back gently. “I’m sure it’s enough. You’ve had this whole thing in the bag since we got started. So now, we just sit back and wait, right? Wait for Samael to show up?”

Castiel nodded, his wings trembling. The split that Dean had first noticed so many months ago now extended from the tip to the first joint. Dean pulled back, sliding his fingers into Castiel’s hair, pressing their foreheads together. He just held him for that moment, trying to hold him so that they’d never have to let go again.

“I don’t want to go.” Castiel whispered against his lips. “I’m afraid.”

“I know.” Dean pulled him back into his arms. “Whatever happens, you’ll have me.”

“That’s not what I’m afraid of,” Castiel lifted his head, kissing him.

“Then we’ll be fine.” Dean smiled, nuzzling his cheek. “Let’s go kick some ass.”

Castiel laughed and nodded, leaning up to kiss him again. “I need you on the third terrace with Briathos, please.”

“Course,” Dean nodded and turned to head there, then stopped. “Which…”

“To your right and up the stairs,”

“Right.”

Dean jogged up the stairs, and Castiel slowly sank to sit on the floor, wrapping his arms around his knees.

_Father...please take this burden from me._

After a minute, Castiel pulled himself back up. Ignoring everyone, he climbed through the tunnels to the very top of the mountain. There was a thick layer of snow on the ground, and the wind was whipping it up into a fury. He closed his eyes, listening to the voices that called to him, the power that suffered beyond the sky--his power.

“Almost,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around himself.

The Grace of their fledgling pulsed within him, and he lifted his head to the sky. “Please don’t hurt her.”

He took a deep breath and drew himself up. Inais, gather everyone in the main cavern.

Castiel descended to the main cavern, every step slow and methodical as if he walked to his death and every hand below carried the axe. His army couldn’t quite fit in the cavern at the heart of Biab, but he curled his Grace so his voice would carry to everyone.

“First of all,” His quiet words filled the room, and silence fell over those waiting: human, demon, and angel alike. They all suddenly looked the same to him, and Castiel swallowed hard.

Dean stepped into the back of the room, leaning against the wall, and for a moment, his eyes met Castiel’s, and he nodded to his husband.

“First of all,” Castiel repeated. “Thank you. Thank you for being here. It helps...more than you know.”

There were a few nods through the crowd, and Castiel nodded to himself, bringing his hands together.

“This will not be an easy fight, but I do ask that you do your best not to kill our enemies. Disable if possible. If there are humans in our enemy’s forces, please bear particular attention not to harm them. I want this war to end with as little bloodshed as possible. Above all else, I need you to trust me. Hold this mountain. Hold it firm, and we will win this battle."

A young human male stepped forward out of the crowd, dressed in black SWAT gear and carrying an automatic rifle.

"Sorry, sir, but you brought us here to fight, right? Those bastards attacked my home and my country. Letting them go in one piece wasn’t exactly my plan."

"They're my family." Castiel stated firmly, and his words resonated through the air, causing the man to tremble. "I don't want them hurt. I hope you understand that."

Slowly the man nodded, and stepped back. Castiel looked around, tucking his wings around his shoulders.

"Vengeance is not the reason for this battle. We are fighting for the right to choose, the right to live as we please, and not to have our fate decided by those who don't bother to stand beside us. After this battle, I don't care if we all go our separate ways. You can wage all the wars you want, angels and demons will go back to fighting and tearing each other apart. What I want is to restore Balance, the balance between good and evil that has been so utterly sundered?  here in this realm. Angels have become dark. Demons are good. Humanity lives in a world where one wrong word can send the entire system tumbling into the Void. I cannot...I will not allow this to continue. Balance must be restored."

Castiel slowly stepped down to the crowd, moving forward to stand just before them.

"You are all equal in my eyes. No matter your origins, no matter your beliefs, here on this battlefield we are all equal, and we fight for the right of free will."

* * *

Now, while the Feles Alata or, as they called themselves, the kittren didn't have much awareness of fashion on Earth, they were quick and eager to learn. Even Crowley had to admit that the suit they'd made him was almost a perfect replica of his old one, and most of the changes were for the better. The dark cloth they'd made it from was finer than silk, and yet durable, made from the coat of the lumbren. Whatever the hell that was.

Gravina had spent the last few hours preparing his armies for transport, and Crowley had spent much of the time sitting in his room, hoping for any contact from Purgatory. Or Earth, or Heaven even. He didn't know if Castiel was all right, or Bobby, or Dean, or anyone at all really. Everyone that had been in their little fortress could've been obliterated: Jody, Kevin, or any of the young angels he'd begun to grow fond of.

Light from the rising of the Ethalieh's two suns blanketed his balcony, and Crowley watched it with a sullen glare, his folded hands pressed against his lips. His gaze was far away, and he tried not to let himself dwell on the idea that Bobby might not have made it out of Purgatory. Yet, even as he tried to force it from his mind, it took on a life of its own and plunged roots down into his heart, forcing him to contemplate the idea.

"Your mind is a whirlwind."

Crowley was startled by Jaen's voice, having forgotten that he'd let her in earlier to tidy up around the room. He wasn't entirely sure when he'd started throwing things, but the disorder made him feel a bit better. He didn't like this world and its order and formality. It made him feel clean, unbearably clean.

“I left too many paths unfinished when I came here,” Crowley murmured. “I can’t get the faces of those I left behind to clear from my thoughts.”

Damn. A week with these endlessly formal cats and he was beginning to talk like them.

Jaen crossed the room and curled up on the cushion next to his chair, the action barely setting them at eye level. “You’ll return soon.”

“What if I return, and I’m too late?” Crowley whispered. “Everything that could go wrong has gone wrong, and all of my friends...I don’t even know if they’re still alive. I’ve been here, lounging around while Gravina readies his army, and they could be dying. Or dead.”

After a minute, she shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. The stewards would have told us if the Balance in the Three Seams was broken.”

Crowley laughed. “Darling, if they haven’t told you, I’m pretty sure they’re idiots. The Three Seams have been broken for a long time.”

Jaen’s four eyes narrowed in the way that Crowley had come to realize was a smile, and she reached out to lay one heavy paw against his arm. “You call things ‘broken’ too easily, _shasen_. The Three Seams are not broken. They are simply bent, their threads frayed, and the Balance tips on the edge of a knife. It is bleak, but it is not yet broken.”

Crowley frowned. “I... _shasen_ , I don’t know that word.”

“It means ‘friend.’” Jaen purred, and Crowley couldn’t help but smile, laying a hand over her paw.

“Thank you, Jaen.”

The first sun, Beilyntol, was setting when Gravina called him down, and Jaen had the few things he’d gathered packed when the call came. Crowley shouldered the blade he’d been given, as the only scabbard they had that might fit him had the thick weapon jutting over his shoulder.

“Crowley Hellking,” Gravina greeted him as he reached the courtyard, Jaen trotting behind him, and Crowley looked up, nodding his head to greet the Sabrenlord.

“Gravina Sabrenlord,” Crowley smiled. “I hope we’re ready to get underway.”

Gravina nodded, shifting his head to the far arches. “The portal is ready, and so are my armies. I have three thousand kittren ready to fight, and more will come if need demands. I have something for you also, Hellking.”

Crowley followed Gravina between the armored kittren, trying not to think about just how well three thousands of these monstrous fighters would fare against the awesome might of an angel. In their defense, he’d never seen a Feles fight. His distraction almost led him to run into the silver-green chest of an entirely new creature.

Easily the same size as Gravina if not a bit bigger, Crowley found himself staring at form of prehistoric lizard-bird. Obviously shaped for speed, its lanky body shifted colors in the light, silver feathers extended down from a streamlined head, and it looked at him with four pale eyes before revealing a mouthful of serrated teeth as it gave a piercing cry.

“This is a _shiigren_ ,” Gravina explained, and Crowley finally saw the saddle fitted behind the jutting base of the creature’s neck. “Here, they live wild, but in the northern provinces, our allies train them as beasts of burden and war steeds as they are cliff dwellers, and can scale nearly sheer surfaces with ease. They are fast, and fierce.”

“Should I worry about it trying to eat me?” Crowley cautiously circled the feathered velociraptor on four legs.

Gravina laughed, his ears flicking back and forth, but Crowley refused to relax even at the general’s ease.

“This particular mount is a well-seasoned veteran, trained by my friend, Ethalo Cyrvaelord. You’ll have no trouble from him.”

“I don’t suppose walking is an option.” Crowley sighed, taking the thick straps bound to spikes on either side of the _shiigren’s_ neck. It immediately looked down at him, and Crowley refused to flinch as it began to sniff him.

“You could walk,” Gravina chuckled. “I’m sure you don’t mind being left behind when your short legs fail to keep you in line with my breakers.”

Crowley glared at him and got his foot in the stirrup, swinging up into the saddle, and almost immediately, the _shiigren_ calmed beneath him, waiting for directions. Crowley smirked down at Gravina.

“Oh look, I’m taller than you now.”

Gravina gave a throaty chuckle and trotted forward, leading the way.

The _shiigren_ had a surprisingly smooth gait once Crowley got used to the swaying of its thick tail, each swish sending a wave through his stomach as if he were about to be thrown off. However, Raptor, as Crowley had begun to affectionately call it, was quiet as he circled the troops with Gravina. It was much like riding a horse, with the slightest twitch of the reins sending Raptor whichever direction he ordered. Gravina took the time to teach him a few commands that might come in handy in battle, but Crowley found himself hoping that the _shiigren_ just remembered his earlier training. Or could call some of his friends. He had a feeling that they were going to need it.

* * *

 

No matter how much Castiel said he needed him, Sam just couldn’t help but think Gabriel needed him more. There were two angels stationed just outside of the hospital room, while Sam lay curled up next to his mate’s side. He laughed as he told Gabriel how much easier it would be to cuddle with only one arm, and he traced the lines of Gabriel’s hospital gown with his fingers. Technically, Gabriel didn’t need the IV or any of the monitors telling them that he was still alive, but it made Sam feel better that maybe Gabriel’s Grace didn’t have to worry so much about keeping his vessel alive.

“Cas says the battle is going to start today,” Sam whispered, his eyes closed. His visions had been pounding through his head for the last few hours, on steady repeat, and he couldn’t help but wish for it to all be over. “He needs you. He says he doesn’t, but I know he does. He’s going to need all of us. He can’t do this on his own.”

Sam reached over, taking Gabriel’s hand and curling against him, wishing he knew how to reach out to him like Dean could reach to Castiel. They had the same bond, but he was so bitterly human that he couldn’t connect with Gabriel in quite the same way. He’d told himself that he wouldn’t be jealous, but he was. He wanted the same special relationship that Dean and Castiel had, the way they could communicate without saying a word, the way Dean always knew when Castiel needed a hug or a touch or a nod.

Shifting over so he could look up at Gabriel, he slid his fingers slowly through Gabriel’s hair, kissing the corner of his mouth.

“I love you.” Sam whispered, resting his forehead against Gabriel’s temple.

A spark of electricity had him reeling back, rubbing his forehead as fleeting images broke through the visions, images that were just familiar enough for him to recognize them as Gabriel’s memories. Sam tilted his head, then looked back at the two angels standing outside. They hadn’t moved, so he turned back to Gabriel, gently turning his mate’s head to face him.

He’d been bearing the brunt of psychic visions for so long, he couldn’t believe it had never occurred to him to try sending it the other way.

_Gabriel_

It felt like nothing more than a whisper, even when Sam was trying to scream into his mate’s mind, desperate to contact him, to know he was okay, to know he’d come out of this. It was like forcing a black hole into reverse by sheer will.

_Gabriel please I need you_

A prick against his skin, a shadow of what he’d felt before, but this time Sam held fast to his mate, grabbing onto the the flickering spark of consciousness and clinging to it.

_Gabriel it’s safe you’re safe we’re home_

He tried and he called and he begged for what felt like hours, but slowly even the slight brush of consciousness slid away and Sam pulled back, brushing his fingers over Gabriel’s face. He blinked quickly, trying to keep back the tears that threatened, but when he opened his eyes, he froze at the sights before him.

Sam stood amidst a maelstrom of color and light, lightning binding the swirling masses together. An eternal wind pushed at him, and he raised both arms to shield his face when a flash of lightning struck just beside him. Lowering them, Sam stared at his hands, flexing his left tentatively and turning it over as well, inspecting the new appendage as if expecting it to disappear any moment.

“Gabriel?” he called, but no sound came from his lips. He could hear without problem, as every crash of lightning splitting through the air nearly sent him to his knees, but his voice carried no weight here.

_Gabriel_

His call reverberated across the clouds like a shock wave, rippling through the colors and bending light around it. It was as if the bolts and hues around him were susceptible only to...Sam sucked in a breath as he reached out a hand, his fingers passing through a bolt of lightning without leaving a single trace.

_Gabriel_

Lightning bent away from him as clouds rippled, and Sam swallowed hard, realizing where he was. He felt sick, his stomach churning at the scale of his violation, but if pervasing into Gabriel’s mind was the only way to save him, then so be it. He resolved to look away from anything that seemed too personal, but the world he’d entered was far different than sitting in a room and watching television, something he might have expected.

The first step was the hardest, as nothing moved to mark his passage. Rather, his body morphed and twisted so as not to disturb that which flowed around him. Every movement felt sluggish, as if walking against a wind that touched nothing else.

_Gabriel, it's Sam. I'm here. Let me help you. Please._

He felt something hum to his right, the softest breeze of a hand over his, but in a world where he couldn't feel anything, it was like a beacon. Sam turned, moving towards what he could only describe as a burning comet. Light radiated from it, and as Sam got closer, he realized it was actually a creature, elongated and full of light, crouching down and curling into itself. The light radiating from it rose from it like massive solar flares, and Sam smiled, stepping closer, unafraid.

_Gabriel._

The creature lifted its head, and Sam walked towards him, kneeling down next to him.

_Sam? What...what are you doing here?_

_I wasn't going to leave you here alone._

_You're...you're inside my...my Grace?_

_I told you. Sam smiled. I will never leave you._

He reached up, gently cupping what he imagined to be Gabriel's cheek. He could feel Gabriel's energy all around him, and he reached out for him.

_Come on. Let's go home._

Lightning struck through his chest, as if his immunity to the electricity guiding Gabriel's thoughts was wiped away, and Sam gasped, immediately choking as he opened his eyes, snapping back into his own body. He looked up to see nurses standing in a circle around him, and there was a light in his eyes, a mask over his mouth forcing oxygen into his lungs.

“Mr. Winchester, can you hear me? Do you understand?”

Sam nodded, tears blurring his vision as he held the hand holding the mask to his face, taking deep breaths. His entire body buzzed in pain, and his chest felt like it was on fire.

“You were having a seizure, and your heart stopped. We had to perform an emergency defibrillation…”

Sam stopped listening about then, focusing on breathing. He’d almost tuned out all the voices around him when one broke through.

“Sam!”

It was weak and hoarse, broken, but perfect. His eyes snapped open, and he gave a wordless cry when he saw his mate reaching down from him. Sam quickly reached up, grabbing Gabriel’s hand and lifting himself up to lay his head against Gabriel’s palm.

“Oh Sam…” Gabriel breathed, touching Sam’s side where his arm had once been.

“It’s just an arm.” Sam gasped, kissing his palm.  “Don’t waste your strength. I’ll be okay.”

Gabriel groaned and forced himself up, and Sam stood quickly as well.

“Mr. Winchester, you shouldn’t…”

“Bite me.” Sam grumbled, pushing the nurse away. “Thanks for the shock, but really, I’ve got more important things to worry about than almost dying.”

Gabriel stood on shaky feet, and the two angels that had been guarding them stepped inside to help support them both. Sam barely felt a jolt of Grace before he felt Gabriel’s wings fold around him, his mate’s arms around his waist.

“I was so afraid I lost you.” Gabriel breathed. “When I saw it wasn’t you, I just...I just knew...but I prayed and…”

“I’m here.” Sam breathed, kissing the top of his head. “I’m here.”

Gabriel took a deep breath, briefly digging his fingers into Sam’s back, and then he took a step back, looking up. “Cas...where’s Cas?”

“Some place in the Middle East.” Sam murmured. “He took me and Dean there, but had uh, these two bring me here so I could stay with you. He said he didn’t need any help, but...Gabe…”

Sam closed his eyes, then leaned forward, touching his forehead to Gabriel’s. “Look…”

It took just a moment for him to feel the brush of Gabriel’s Grace in his mind, and he brought up the visions that had been plaguing him. He felt Gabriel’s hands tighten in his own and his wings flutter, fluffing in alarm.

“Oh Father please...not this…” Gabriel whispered. “Sam, we have to get to him. I can stop this, I just…”

“What about this?”

Sam reached into his pocket, pulling out the key that Crowley had sent him into Hell to get. He held it out to Gabriel, who closed his eyes wearily.

“It’s too late now. Cas is under the gauntlet. There’s no time left.” Gabriel shook his head, taking Sam’s hand and pressing the key into it. “Hold onto it though. You’ll want to check it out if we survive this.”

“What is it?”

Gabriel smiled, a spark of his old self alight in his eyes. “Patience, Sammitch. First we have to save Castiel and Dean...no matter what.”

Sam’s eyes widened as Gabriel drew out his angel blade. “Castiel....Gabe, what are you going to do?”

Gabriel looked up at him, his eyes dark. “What I have to.”

* * *

 

The sky was clear, sunlight competing with bright blue and green auroras. Somehow, it felt sinister to President Collins, and as he looked up to the sky through his office window, he wondered to whom he was supposed to be praying. If angels were the enemy...who was their friend?

He turned when he heard someone come in and looked over at his Secretary of Defense.

“My family…”

“Just left, heading for a bunker outside of Boston.”

“Have you heard from President Patil yet?”

“She said they have several carriers close enough to provide aerial support.”

Misha nodded, rubbing his forehead. “And our forces?”

“Mobilized and ready. Only about 2000 men and women from all branches of our military have taken a religious leave of absence. The National Guard has been delegated to preparing and moving evacuees into safe locations. Supplies are being stocked, and frankly, I think we’re just about as prepared as we could be. Unless you have something to add?”

“Toilet paper.”

“Sir?”

“No one ever remembers to stock up on toilet paper.” Misha smiled, and the officer behind him smiled as well.

“I’ll make sure that’s on the list, sir.”

“Thank you.”

Misha turned back to the window, looking out at the sky for a moment. The lights spreading across the sky seemed to be thickening by the minute, and the sight of them just made him feel sick.

He had no way of knowing that what had humans on Earth looking up in mixtures of awe and trepidation was the beginning of the end for them all.

* * *

 

The Gates of Heaven had been flung wide open in a way they had not been in many millenia. The Veil between Earth and Heaven was at its thinnest, and the angels that remained stationed in Heaven descended, taking vessels when they could find them. Samael herself descended to Earth, leaving Heaven unguarded, save for a handful of hunters and an even scarcer group of angels holding back the flood.

It was pure faith that held the South Gate, with Leviathan pounding against the Veil. The human forces were pressed fast against the Gate on the other side, the

“What are they?” Mary demanded, gripping Naomi’s arm.

“They’re Leviathan, creatures of endless hunger. They’re chaos, destruction, the antithesis of all angels.”

“I thought demons…”

Naomi shook her head hard, looking fearfully towards the Gate.

“No, demons were created by Lucifer: twisted, violent, tortured souls of man. Leviathan are from beyond the Veil. They are...I don’t know. It’s...it’s gone...I…”

“Okay.” Mary said firmly, giving the angel a little shake. “How do we kill them?”

“I know that!”

Mary turned to see an Asian teenager running towards them, and he stopped, panting slightly.

“Kevin Tran, Advanced Placement. Sorry, I just died like...a few days ago...I think...and I heard something…”

“Skip the explanation, Kevin Tran, Advanced Placement,” Mary stepped forward. “You said you know how to kill them.”

“Yeah, it’s a spell.” Kevin explained. “We need the bone of a righteous person, blood of a fallen angel, an Alpha monster, and the ruler of fallen humanity. It creates a weapon that can kill any Leviathan.”

“Great.” Mary sighed, turning and looked back to where Chayyliel and Baruchiel were holding the Veil. “How do we get those?”

“I’ll go to Earth.” Naomi breathed. “Any of the angels helping Castiel can provide blood, and I believe the Nephilim that Samael is looking for is also the King of Hell.”

Kevin shook his head. “Last thing I saw before I died was Crowley going through to Ethalieh. That’s what I was trying to tell you. I was working on translating the Angel Tablet before I died, and I’d hidden it down in the cellar, so I had gone down to get it. It’s with my body, or what’s left of it. I need it. It had something on it about Heaven’s Archives?”

“The Archive.” Naomi said softly. “My mate, Gadreel.”

“No…” Kevin said slowly. “I’m pretty sure it was plural, and it was talking about a place, not a person. I remember because they were like...side notes. The pattern was really different than the rest of the tablet.”

Naomi frowned. “What did it say?”

“It said…’All my strength has failed me. The Hall cannot be destroyed. All my strength cannot destroy the Archives. I will Seal it, and so he can never be free again. As I am never free from this agony.’”

“Michael…” Naomi whispered, taking a deep breath.

“What’s in there?” Mary asked, looking quickly between the two.

“Everything.” Naomi whispered. “The entire history of Heaven, the creation of the Angels, everything.”

“Is there anything in there that might help us beat back the Leviathan? Because if we don’t, I don’t think anything else will matter.” Mary glanced back at the Gate, the urgency clear in her voice.

“There might be. All of Heaven’s defenses stem from the central Garden, but only the Archangels are allowed in.”

Mary reached out and touched Naomi’s shoulder. “You’re all we’ve got. Chayyliel and Baruchiel can’t leave those towers. They’re pushing all their energy into holding that Gate, and so are we.”

She turned, heading into the midst. “Victor, you’re in charge. We’re going to see if we can kick some gas into this fire.”

Victor nodded, gripping her shoulder and turning back to the others as Mary went back to Kevin and Naomi. She looked between them for a moment and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.

“All right, let’s go.”

Naomi drew her blade and led the way, but the further they ventured from the Gate, the more clear it became that there were no angels left to stop them. Naomi began to run, and Kevin and Mary were quick to follow. The planes moved by faster than they could adjust, and they just made sure to stay close to Naomi. Soon, they found themselves in a hallway, and Naomi turned, raising a hand for them to stop.

“Wait here for a minute, let me go first.”

Mary tugged Kevin into a small alcove in the hallway, watching as Naomi went ahead. After a few minutes, she turned a corner and disappeared. Kevin slowly looked up at Mary, and she took his hand.

“You look familiar. Like...in your eyes…” Kevin murmured.

“I’m Dean and Sam Winchester’s mother.”

Kevin almost immediately smiled. “That’s it. You have Dean’s eyes. I mean...he has yours. They saved my life. And...kinda ruined it. But mostly saved.”

“Here.”

They both jumped at the sound of Naomi’s voice, and she was holding out two silver blades.

“Just in case. I can’t sense anyone else here, but…”

Mary nodded, taking one of the two blades, and Kevin awkwardly took the other.

“I...I don’t know how to fight.”

“It’s easy.” Mary smiled. “Pointy end goes into the other guy.”

“Brilliant.” Kevin laughed. “That’s really helpful.”

Mary squeezed his hand, and didn’t let go when they followed Naomi down the hallway. When they reached the end, Naomi paused and took a deep breath, raising her hand to the doorway in front of them.

“I’ve never been down here. I’m not...I’m not supposed to…”

Mary reached out and touched her shoulder. “It’s okay. If what you told us is true, Michael tore up the rule book a long time ago. If we’re going to get any sense of order back, we’ve got to tear it all down to the studs.”

Naomi nodded, and pushed the door open.

Instantly, it was as if someone had shut off the lights. The clean, crisp aura of the hallway that they had just left deteriorated into molding walls with a crumbling ceiling. Mary reached out, touching the wall beside them, and it bent in under her touch, her fingers coming away covered in dust.

“It’s not supposed to be like this.” Naomi whispered. “This is the Hall of the Scribes. It’s supposed to be pure light. Not this.”

Mary took a step forward, moving past the stricken angel, and Kevin grasped Naomi’s hand, linking the three of them together.

The floors creaked beneath them, and there was only one way forward. Mary walked slowly, keeping her eyes open, falling into an old habit of reciting the Lord’s Prayer in her mind. Each of them tried to move without touching the cracked walls, and Kevin kept expecting them to walk through a cobweb or run into a giant spider or something. What they actually found was worse.

Slowly, the hallway opened up before them into what had once been a grand hall of gold and alabaster. The walls were full of books layered with dust, boxes full of scrolls, and lining the expanse of the room were heavy wooden desks. At each desk was an angel, and each angel was chained to the desk before them. None of them moved when the three appeared, but in the air was a slight scratching.

Mary stepped away as Kevin and Naomi both stayed frozen where there were, and she walked forward to the closet angel, its eyes frozen open, cold and empty. Dust lay as thick on the angel’s yellow hair as it did on the papers before it, spread out on the desk. Mary slowly circled the angel, looking down at where it had once been writing. On top of neatly scripted pages was a final message, ink scrawled and scratched in desperate motions.

“‘We cannot get out. We cannot get...out…” Mary recited slowly, looking around as the words whispered through the hall.

“They’re all dead.” Naomi whispered, following Mary as she began to walk between the desks. The further back they got, they began to notice that parts of the angels had begun to turn to stone. As they reached the final rows, both the desks and angels had turned to cold marble, eyes empty, quills frozen. However, the scratching that had been only growing since they entered the Hall paused.

Naomi walked up to the last desk, slightly larger than the rest, and books and scrolls were stacked around it. At the desk sat an older, portly man with curly grey hair. His lips moved slightly, as if reciting, though no sound came out, and his fingers twitched, causing the quill in his hand to scratch against the paper resting on the desk.

“Metatron…” Naomi said softly, stepping forward. “Metatron, can you hear me? It’s Naomi.”

For a moment, he stopped, and then his lips began to moving once more, mouthing her name. She stepped forward, gently smoothing a hand over his hair.

“Metatron…”

“DON’T!”

All three of them jumped as the Scribe shouted, his eyes suddenly wide and bloodshot. His grip on the quill tightened, and Naomi jumped back, suddenly spotting something silver hidden in the angel’s grey hair. She slowly stepped around the back of the chair, recognizing one of her own tools buried in the back of his head.

“Mary, hold his head.”

Mary stepped forward, gripping either side of the angel’s head, and Naomi gripped the silver drill. Kevin winced as it released with a sickening squelch, the angel’s Grace gleaming through the back of his head, and Naomi pressed her hand to the word, closing her eyes, her own Grace glowing. Mary closed her eyes against the bright gleam, and when it faded, she opened her eyes to see the Scribe looking up at her.

“You...who’re you?”

“Metatron?” Naomi moved around him, cupping his face in her hands. “Metatron, it’s Naomi. What happened?”

He looked around slowly, but the chains binding him to the desk allowed him little other movement.

“Michael…” Metatron whispered. “Michael said we had to rewrite history. Every page. I told him we couldn’t do that. We only write...what’s happened...not...change...can’t change...”

Tears began to fill his eyes. “So...so he made us. He made me control them, chained us here until every page...everything had been changed.”

His head fell forward onto his chest, tears falling into the dust on his desk. “They’re all gone, all gone, all my students, my brothers...all quiet…it’s so quiet…”

Naomi and Mary cut away his chains, helping him to lay down on the floor. Even there, Metatron simply curled up, leaning against the wall and wrapping his arms around himself, sobbing inconsolably. Kevin knelt down next to him.

“This is the guy who wrote the tablets I’ve been translating.The Words of God...”

Mary touched Kevin’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s keep going.”

Kevin nodded, taking her hand again and standing. “Doesn’t seem right to leave him alone.”

“We’ll come back for him.”

* * *

 

The wind was picking up, sending spirals of snow into the air, but the chill Castiel felt had nothing to do with the weather. Dean watched him from the safety of the mountain, wishing there was something he could do to help. Walking out onto the terrace overlooking the valley before them, he wrapped his arms around Castiel’s waist and kissed his hair just behind his ear.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

Castiel nodded, covering Dean’s hands with his own. “I know. I’m just worried about you.”

“I’m fine.” Dean chuckled. “I’m worried about you.”

Castiel turned in his arms and curled against his chest. “Perhaps that’s why we fit together so well. We spend so much time worrying about each other, we don’t mind facing the battles we have before us.”

“‘Cause we face them together.” Dean smiled, rubbing Castiel’s back.

Castiel nodded and leaned back, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Any word from Crowley?”

Dean shook his head. “Nothing.”

Castiel closed his eyes, turning back to the valley. “Without him, what chance do we have?”

“Don’t worry.” Dean said, stepping forward and gripping his shoulder. “We’ll make it. We always do.”

Castiel took a deep breath, and as he looked up, wide bands of colored light exploded across the sky. Dean couldn’t help but smile at their beauty, but Castiel tensed beside him.

“They’re here.”

Dean swore and pulled his silver blade, grabbing Castiel’s hand and pulling him back inside.

“Briathos!”

The massive angel was already on his way up, and Dean ducked under his wings, tugging Castiel deeper inside the mountain. He took him down to the cavern, and turned him.

“Cas, do me a favor, and stay down here.”

“Dean, I have to fight.”

“No, you don’t.” Dean snapped, placing a hand on Castiel’s stomach and kissing him hard. “Just stay here. Stay here until that moment you keep talking about comes. Stay safe.”

“Dean…”

“Cas, promise me.”

“I love you.” Castiel whispered, hugging him tightly.

“I love you too.” Dean kissed him again, gripping his hand. “Stay here.”

Castiel watched Dean run back up to the terrace where Briathos was directing the angels to their defenses, and he turned, heading down to where the human forces had gathered to hold the lower terraces. Equipped in what he’d heard Dean call ‘SWAT’ gear and assault rifles, Castiel could only think of how fragile they were.

From the lower terrace, he could look out across the valley as waves of angels appeared, clad in alabaster armor and armed with blades and bows. A blast of light echoed across the valley as each angel manifested their wings, their armor spreading up along the joints, protecting the sensitive limbs.

“Aim for the joints of their wings.” Castiel found himself saying. “The pain will disable them and severely impede use of their Grace.”

Castiel stepped back, pushing his fingers through his hair, moving almost instinctively upwards. He found himself in the infirmary, and there was an unfamiliar hand on his shoulder.

“Castiel.”

Castiel frowned at the man before him. “I…”

“I’m Garth,” the man explained. “I’m a friend of Dean’s. I’ve been helping Ephraim in here.”

“Right.” Castiel nodded. “Thank you.”

“Cas…” Garth said again as Castiel started to move away from him, and he reached out, pulling the angel into a tight hug. “I want you to know I’m here for you. I’ve _always_ been with you.”

Castiel patted his back, his brow furrowed, and as he pulled away, he found himself looking at the strange man with a strange feeling of confidence.

“You can do this.” Garth smiled. “It’s all going to be okay.”

Unable to respond, Castiel turned away from him, raising his hand to his head as he walked.

“Sit down, Castiel,” he heard another voice, another familiar voice ushering him to sit down against the cavern wall. He looked up and saw Balthazar, kneeling before him. “Sit down. The world’s not going to end right this moment. Just stay right here.”

“Why does everyone keep telling me that?” Castiel breathed.

“Because we love you.” Balthazar smiled. “Don’t make me tie you up.”

Castiel sat forward, resting his head in his hands. He felt Balthazar move away, felt other angels, felt people moving past him, and he opened his eyes. Dust fell from the ceiling as the ground shook, and he looked up, knowing that high above them there were jets that were laying down intensive fire on the angels as they landed. As each jet was brought down, a shudder went through Castiel. He could hear the souls that fled, hear the screams.

* * *

 

Knowing Castiel was in the safest part of the mountain gave Dean a little bit of confidence as he followed Briathos. New emerald wings folded out from his shoulders, flecked with gold and brown, and the cold was like a distant memory. Briathos had angels holding what he figured was like a force field over the mountain, protecting the human forces that had bullets laden with Enochian spells spreading out over the angel forces.

As more and more angels appeared in the valley, Dean began to understand Castiel’s level of despair. After all the angels that had died in the Apocalypse and subsequent civil wars, how were there so many left? And so many fighting against them?

He looked to Briathos, and the angel nodded, his dark skin standing out against the snow. Dean stepped out onto the scraggly rocks framing the terrace. Several angels followed him as they leapt down, wings spreading. They spread out around him, but he headed straight for the ground, definitely ready to get his blade into some of the bastards that had been tormenting him and his family.

For the first time since angels had first threatened him, Dean was able to go toe to toe with them, and he took full advantage of his new strength. Castiel’s request forgotten, he could only think of his son and husband and unborn child as his blade found flesh.

* * *

When the angels landed before Biab, the entire earth trembled. It was then that President Collins felt like control slipped from his fingers as he and his most trusted officials were ushered into unmarked vehicles by his personal guards, driving them to an undisclosed location, undisclosed even to him.  He knew his family was safe, but with the Earth groaning in agony, he wondered really if any one of them was safe.

Lightning split across the clear sky, flickering for several seconds, and then it was gone. Misha looked up through the tinted windows. Somehow he felt like the sun shouldn’t be shining as the world ended.

* * *

 

The deeper into the Hall they ventured, the darker it seemed to get. The darkness had its own presence, weighing down on them until it was hard to breathe. They clutched at each other, hands held tightly now to keep from losing one another in the ever endless abyss. Naomi led the way, the only one who knew where they were going. All Mary could feel was Naomi's warm hand in hers, and Kevin practically tripping in his efforts to stay as close to them as possible. She squeezed his hand, and then Naomi slipped away.

“Naomi?” Mary called, and Naomi’s voice came back to them from a few feet ahead.

“Wait there. I’ll be right back.”

Mary stopped, and Kevin shifted his grip on the silver blade he held. The darkness was so thick around them that he was afraid if he lost his hold on Mary's hand, he'd never find her again, lost forever in this eternal labyrinth.

When light sprung into life ahead of them, Kevin flinched back, shielding his eyes for a moment until they adjusted. It had seemed like the rise of the sun, though it had only been two flames that Naomi used to light torches ahead of them. The torches illuminated a massive door, smooth alabaster except for a single seam down the center. The seam was barely visible behind what Kevin could only describe as massive gold plaques, each engraved with Enochian sigils. They overlapped one another, glimmering in the firelight.

“‘As she is,’” He read, his fingers brushing over the scrawled Enochian. “‘So shall I be.’”

“It’s like every step we take, we descend into Michael’s own madness.” Naomi murmured. “How much further will he take us?”

Mary stepped forward. “What’s behind these doors? Is it the Archives that you read about, Kevin?”

“There’s no way we can get in.” Naomi lifted one of the torches, showing the heavy sigils scrawled into the gold plaques and around the seam of the doors.. “These seals are...very...very powerful. Without knowing the proper way to disable them…”

“We can’t have come all this way for nothing.” Mary interrupted. “You said that back there were Heaven’s defenses. We need to stop the Leviathan from breaking into Heaven. Naomi, there has to be a way in.”

Kevin looked up at the wall. “Can we blast them off?”

“With what?” Mary looked around.

“Us.” Kevin said quickly. “The way that Metatron spoke about human souls in the tablets, from what I could get you and I are like walking nuclear reactors. Maybe Naomi can set us off somehow, blast the seals off.”

Naomi turned, shaking her head. “I’m not going to do that. There’s no telling what state your souls would be left in.”

Mary looked around. “I think that’s a risk we’re going to have to take.”

“No!” Naomi repeated. “I refuse. There has to be another way. We don’t even know exactly what is beyond this doors. Michael could have set a trap, if the seals are vandalized…”

“Naomi.” Mary reached out and touched her shoulder. “We don’t have a choice. We have to keep going, and we don’t have time to search for another option. We’re already dead.”

“But your souls still exist here.” Naomi pleaded. “You could possibly cease to exist if I do this.”

“That’s a risk we’ll take.” Kevin said firmly, setting his blade down. “It looks like the weakest point is here. Mary…”

Mary stepped up next to the door, and Naomi looked at them both as they faced the door, then looked back at her over their shoulders.

“It’s okay.” Kevin grinned.

Naomi slowly stepped up behind them, placing a hand on their backs. “This is going to hurt.”

Her hands melted into their skin, pushing deep into their souls. She heard Kevin crying out as if from far away, but Mary didn’t make a sound. Their energy poured into her Grace, stretching it to its bursting point, and she channeled it forward into the seals Michael had so frantically hammered into place. As she watched, light flooded along the seam, passing around and through the seals, setting them aflame. In a nearly blinding flash, the doors burst open, casting all three of them backwards.

Light seared away the darkness of the halls, flooding into the Hall of the Scribes, illuminating the fallen angels and drawing Metatron to his feet. It pushed through the pristine hallways where angels trod, and pierced through the planes of Heaven.

Naomi slowly lifted her head, vision bleached white by the intensity of the light, her hair blown back. The wind pouring forth both pushed at her form and beckoned her forward. Kevin and Mary lay limp next to her, but she paid them little attention as she stood.

She stepped delicately up onto the platform, the wind swirling around her. There were no books, no panels, nothing with which she might defend her home, nothing to signify that this was the Archive of which Kevin had spoken.

The platform that Naomi now stood on circled an opening in the floor from which the wind and light swirled in a Maelstrom of color. She swallowed nervously, stepping forward, and the closer she got, the more of herself was swept away. She didn’t slow as she neared the edge of the platform, and electric currents arched away from the Maelstrom, catching on her hair, her wings, her Grace.

Light rose to meet her as she stepped off the platform, and she did not fall. Instead, the Maelstrom rose to meet her, wrapping around her, both supporting and consuming her. It threaded into her Grace, and Naomi would have gasped if she still had the physical capability.

The Axis itself lay open before her, the entire plane of the Veil at her fingertips. She could see the breakers of Ethalieh caught in limbo, and the Leviathan, the Abyss, that gnashed at her feet. A touch, and the doors of the Hall slid shut, protecting those outside from exposure to the Maelstrom. The Seals that had bound the Maelstrom to Heaven, fashioned by madness, broke away under her guidance, and the Maelstrom pulled away, falling back into line with the Axis. As it slid into place, the Axis pierced through the Three Seams, and Heaven itself began to shift.

* * *

A beam of light passed along the South Gate, and the hunter army pulled back as the Leviathan began to scream in pain and frustration. He wasn’t sure how, but as Victor turned away from the Gate and climbed Baruchiel’s tower, he could see that Heaven and Purgatory were actually...shifting away from each other.

“How is this happening?”

"I don't know."

The guardian angel next to him shook his head, lowering his hands for the first time since they battle had begun as the path from Purgatory to Heaven simply became impassable.

As they watched, milky glass spread between the two realms, and Purgatory simply vanished from view, along with the cries of the Leviathan. Fields of silver grass replaced the vision of the Gate, and they found themselves standing without reason in the middle of a grassy plain with no walls or towers in sight.

Chayyliel moved to Baruchiel's side as the hunters gathered together, most of them lowering weapons that no longer served any purpose.

"What's going on?" Chayyliel asked quietly, and her companion shook his head.

"I honestly haven't any idea."

* * *

 

Dean lost count of how many times he raised his blade, how many narrow misses he dodged, and just how many angels he saw losing ground, losing wings, and losing faith. The only way he could tell Castiel's angels from Samael's was by their armor, in that Castiel's forces weren't wearing any, and most kept their wings incorporeal since Castiel had the humans aiming for the wings of the others.

It seemed like a low blow, but Dean knew that if nothing else, their wings would grow back and it put them down for the count. It was better than dying, he supposed, but he wasn't exactly sure where angels went when they died.

He cut through the armor of the next angel to stand in front of him, and his blade slid between their ribs. With a jerk, he freed his sword and dropped the angel to the side, his path to Samael suddenly clear. An image filled his head of him driving his blade into her skull and ending this once and for all, but the moment he took a step towards her, she turned and looked at him, smirking.

Heat reigned around him as her second wave began to manifest, and Dean felt a wave of despair hit him as their exhausted forces were overwhelmed by fresh troops. Just how many angels did Heaven have? How long was this going to last?

He fought to reach Inais and Briathos, but there were so many angels between him and safe ground that for the first time, failure seemed like a very real possibility.

_Cas_

Dean was thrown to the ground by a piercing beam of light, like lightning splitting straight down through the valley before Biab, but rather than a simple flash, it stayed, holding in the center of the valley for what felt like hours, but was only a couple of minutes. The earth rumbled beneath them, groaning as what felt like the entire planet shifted beneath them, and then as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone.

He slowly sat up, and all those around him, Castiel and Samael's forces alike, were as dazed as he was, confused. Each side looked to the other, trying to determine where the 'attack' had come from and who was at fault. Then he heard Samael bark a command, and he lifted his blade in defense as several angels started towards him.

A shriek pierced the air, and Dean stared in shock as what he could only describe as a dinosaur with feathers took the head off one of the angels, and flung its body into another. It shrieked again, blood staining its fangs, and then it was followed by roars as giant armored cat after giant armored cat sprang forth from the hole created by the massive light beam.

"Hello darling."

Dean laughed as the dinosaur stopped beside him, and none other than Crowley beamed down at him.

"Damn, you are one sight for sore eyes." Dean held out a hand, and Crowley yanked him up behind him on the feathered dino.

"Yes, yes, I know," Crowley smirked, wheeling Raptor around. Dean’s eyes widened and he wrapped an arm around Crowley’s waist, holding his blade out as angels surged towards them. Raptor was faster, however, and they were wary of his teeth as he let out another blood-curdling shriek.

“You like? It’s the newest model.” Crowley grinned, and Dean only held on tighter as Raptor lashed out.

“From where? Jurassic Park?!”

Two of the winged cats pulled down an angel, one of Castiel’s angels, and Dean shouted at them.

“Crowley! Tell them to stop! He’s one of ours!”

Crowley shouted something he didn’t understand, and the two cats pulled back, tucking twin tails between their legs as the angel got up shakily.

“Who are we fighting then?”

Dean turned to see another of the cats pull up beside them, this one green, and Crowley shifted halfway around in his seat to look at Dean.

“Dean, this is Gravina Sabrenlord. Gravina, this is Dean Winchester.”

“Earthking,” Gravina bowed his head. “Where is our enemy?”

Dean turned, pointing at Samael. “There.”

“My breakers are having trouble telling the angels apart.” Gravina said slowly. “And where are your Knights, Hellking?”

“They’re supposed to be here.” Crowley growled.

“They were.” Dean sighed. “It takes eight demons to pull down a single angel, and do you see how many Samael brought with her?”  

Crowley closed his eyes, shaking his head. “How many are left?”

“I have no idea.” Dean pointed to the mountain. “Castiel’s got the humans on the lower terraces. Demons and angels...all through it.”

“You have human, demon, and angel forces?” Gravina asked. “How are we to tell who we are fighting?”

Dean’s eyes widened and he jumped off the raptor’s back, running to the nearest angel he saw that wouldn’t stab him.

“Bojira…” the angel murmured when it saw him.

Dean blinked at the word, then shook his head. “Have you guys got armor?”

“Of course.”

“Put it on. Tell everybody to put it on.” Dean ordered, then turned back to Crowley and Gravina.

“Tell your forces to disable, do not kill. Knock’m unconscious, break a limb, do whatever you gotta do, but don’t kill anybody.”

Gravina bowed his head again, and sprang off. Crowley looked down at Dean, then around the battlefield as the angels not sporting armor suddenly seemed to glow, shimmering alabaster armor flowing down over them like silk. It took just seconds for the chaos of war to turn into absolute mayhem.

Dean wanted to smile as the angels turned on each other, and just as quickly backed away as they found themselves bearing arms against their own side. Slowly, blades were lowered across the valley as the confused angels didn’t know where to strike, and the Feles held back their own attacks. Demons were the only ones left who seemed to be itching to make a strike, but they didn’t dare defy orders, especially when they saw Crowley riding on his vicious serpent.

Samael stared out at her forces, clenching her jaw. “Fall back!”

“Everybody regroup!” Dean shouted as well, motioning back to the mountain, and he jogged forward, leading the way.

Angels and demons alike swept back into the mountain, and Dean arrived on the second terrace seconds after Crowley. Crowley was beaming, bouncing on his feet.

“That was brilliant.”

“CROWLEY!”

Castiel’s cry rose above the growing din in the cavern, and Crowley suddenly found himself with an armful of angel. Crowley wrapped his arms around him, lifting him up gently. When he set him down, Castiel pulled back, looking at him with a sense of awe and relief, a small smile reflecting the aching emptiness in bloodshot eyes. Crowley frowned, gently cupping Castiel’s cheek.

“We’re almost there, _shasen_ ,”

Castiel smiled. “Almost. And now we have a fighting chance.”

“What happened out there!?” Samael was shouting as her troops came trudging up the hill to their camp.

“When they put on their armor,” Jehuviel said slowly. “We couldn’t tell who we were fighting, whether they were with us or against us,”

Samael watched as two of her angels came up the hill, carrying another between them who was missing a wing. She covered her mouth, looking around at the troops that had followed her into battle.

“The Aboapri are with them.”

Samael turned to face the angel speaking, who was holding his arms out almost in surrender.

“The Aboapri serve the Balance.” The angel was saying, his wings trembling. “And they stand against us. What does that make us?”

“We are following Michael’s orders.” Samael?  said firmly.

“Maybe Michael’s wrong.” Another angel said, this one sitting on the ground, her knees tucked to her chest, her wings riddled with bullet holes. “This feels wrong.”

“We’re fighting our brothers and sisters.” Someone whispered, and Samael?  turned, snarling.

“They’re traitors! Following the word of the Deceiver, Castiel!” she shouted, pointing across the valley. “Have you forgotten what he has done to us? To Heaven?”

Even then, she saw the doubt spreading through her followers like a virus, and she turned away from them, walking to the chest she had brought from Heaven and placed under guard. She flung it open and lifted a shroud-covered object.

“It’s time to end this.”

Dean and Crowley, moved through the remaining troops, organizing them in front of the mountain for a counter-assault. Humans hurried to reload their weapons, and the infirmary waited to receive the injured. With the battlefield cleared, however, it became obvious that Samael’s angels were not taking prisoners. More than half of the dead littering the field were Castiel’s forces, angel and demon alike, burned through with the force of angelic Grace.

“Castiel!”

Castiel turned from watching Dean and Crowley to see Sam and Gabriel hurrying towards him. He embraced them both, but didn’t have a moment to express his gratitude for their appearance before Gabriel was pulling him to the side. Once they were alone, Gabriel turned to face him.

“I know how to fix it.”

“Fix what?”

“Why you don’t see anything for yourself beyond this battle.”

Castiel’s eyes widened, but he took a step back as he realized Gabriel had drawn his blade.

“Brother, what are you doing?”

“It’s the fledgling, Cas.” Gabriel breathed. “That fledgling is going to tear you apart.”

Castiel looked back and forth between Gabriel and the blade, shaking his head. “No, brother, I can’t. I can’t do that to Dean.”

“Dean doesn’t know he’s choosing between you or your child. I know he’ll choose you.”

“Gabriel…” Castiel spoke with the voice of an archangel, his Grace shifting, and Gabriel hesitated.

A cry outside interrupted them, and Castiel raised a hand as Gabriel glanced towards the sound, flinging Gabriel back into wall. He turned, running outside to Dean, and Dean caught him by the waist, looking up to the top of the valley wall where Samael now stood.

She held a white staff in front of her, perfectly smooth except for the top foot, which was as gnarled and twisted as any willow. Inside the branches glowed a soft, blue light, and Samael appeared to be speaking into it.

“Get everyone inside now.” Castiel whispered, but before Dean could do as he asked, Castiel turned and shouted. “Inside! Now!”

He shoved the soldiers nearest to him, looking back at Samael as the sky began to twist around her, smoky light descending onto the valley floor.

“Get inside!” Castiel shouted again, and Dean gripped his arm, pulling him ahead of the ensuing tide. As Dean dragged him, Castiel continued to call orders.

“As deep as you can! Hurry! Briathos! The shields!”

The glassy forcefield descended over Biab once more, but the moment the surging mist touched it, it shattered.

“Into the mountain!” Castiel’s voice rose above the sound of feet running over stone, angels hanging back to make certain the humans reached the safety of the underground passages, and demons running for their own lives.

Dean glanced back, watching every single person that the mist touched collapsed instantly, dead before they hit the ground.

“Dean!” Dean looked over to see Garth motioning them into a side corridor. Dean pushed Castiel down into the tiny alcove, and knelt next to him, pulling Castiel close against his chest, squeezing his eyes shut and praying. The blinding light of the mist whitewashed the cave walls, and when Dean dared to look back again, he saw a man holding the mist back from those cowering in the depths of the mountain. Silhouetted, he stood fast, an underwhelming guardian against the inevitable, but the mist would not touch him. Somehow comforted, Dean leaned down, pressing his lips to Castiel’s hair.

When at last the light faded, Dean slowly stood with Castiel at his side, looking around. The halls were littered with corpses of those that could not get out of the way fast enough, and Castiel was trembling in his arms. He looked up at Dean, touching his face briefly, and then he stepped out, calling to his soldiers by name.

“Crowley!” Dean shouted, a flood of relief hitting him when the blond Hellking came stumbling out of one of the back caves, followed by none other than Gabriel and Sam. “Hey, when did you two get here?”

“Not too long ago.” Sam coughed, brushing dust out of his hair. “What the Hell was that?”

“The Staff of Azrael.” Castiel answered from behind them, watching Gabriel warily for a moment before looking up at Sam. “The staff that smote the firstborn of Egypt.”

“Wasn’t that the Staff of Moses?” Dean questioned, but Castiel shook his head.

“The Staff of Moses didn’t possess that kind of power. It can create fluctuations in nature, but the Staff of Azrael serves one purpose and one purpose only.”

He stepped away from them, gently touching one of the fallen. “To eliminate life.”

“If she’s got that on her side, what the Hell can we do?” Dean breathed.

Castiel stood slowly, trembling, and he wrapped his arms around himself.

“Gather the fallen.”

Dean started to follow him as he walked away, but Castiel raised a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

“Cas, please,” Dean breathed, unable to see how Castiel was still standing under the burden of guilt he placed on himself. Please talk to me.

Castiel just shook his head, turning again and retreating towards the upper terraces. Dean sighed, pushing a hand through his hair.

“Inais…” he called, but there was no answer, and Hannah stepped up next to him.

“Inais is gone, sir."

Dean nodded, and slowly began the task of figuring out where they now stood.

Behind them, Crowley turned to Sam, taking in his state slowly, trying not to look around too much.

“Where…” he swallowed, looking up at Sam hopefully. “Where’s Bobby?”

Sam’s face fell, and Crowley felt his throat close up.

“He...he didn’t make it out.”

“Right.”

“Crowley…”

Crowley took a deep breath. “I’m going to...to see if Gravina survived. Maybe he knows a way around the Staff…”

Sam watched him walk away, raising a hand to his face. Gabriel leaned against his side.

“Do you think we have a chance?” Sam whispered, and Gabriel nodded.

“Hang on, baby,” Gabriel whispered. “It’s about to get bad.”

Crowley hurried back to where he’d left Raptor, the _shiigren_ miraculously surviving the attack. Part of him had known that there was little to no chance that Bobby was still alive, but to hear it was a different thing. It had been a very long time before he’d allowed himself to care for someone so intently. Now, he wanted desperately to blame someone, but he couldn’t. There was nothing, nothing he could do except make sure that Bobby’s death had been worth something.

He took a deep breath, sliding his angel sword into his jacket and pulling himself back up onto Raptor’s back, staying close to his neck as he guided him out.

Night had fallen across the valley long ago, and the _shiigren_ was barely visible in the trees and brush lining the valley. The center of the valley was nothing more than a charred hole now, and after crossing most of the way, Crowley slid from Raptor’s back and took off his reins and saddle.

“Go back to Gravina, all right, boy? He’ll take you home. I won’t be back.”

Raptor huffed, sniffling at his jacket and shuffling where he was. Crowley sighed but put his gear down, pulling out his sword and gripping it tightly as he moved through the darkness. He set his jaw when he reached the edge of Samael’s camp, and the angels sitting at the perimeter leapt to their feet, staring at him, their eyes wide and wings flared.

“Relax, boys,” Crowley drawled, smiling and twirling his blade through his fingers. “I just want to talk to your boss.”

Relax they certainly didn’t, escorting him to where Samael stood with several other angels, quietly discussing their next move. The Staff of Azrael was tucked against her chest, and she looked at him and sneered.

“Abomination.” She stepped forward, and Crowley looked up at her. “Come to surrender?”

“No, mother,” Crowley smiled. “I’ve come to make a deal.”

From thousands down to a little over fifty, Dean could sense Castiel’s frustration. He told them all to stay as deep in the mountain as they could, not willing to risk another hit from the Staff of Azrael. Hannah stayed at his side as he moved through the terraces, helping the others to move the fallen out of the way, but there were more dead than they had places to put them.

“Where’s Crowley?” Dean asked Sam when he next saw him, and Sam shook his head.

“He took off after I told him about Bobby.” Sam looked down, sliding fingers through his hair. “We should’ve never been down there, and I think Crowley feels responsible.”

Dean shook his head. “He needs to be down in the caverns with everyone else. You too. I’m not losing anyone else tonight.”

“Dean…”

Dean heard Sam call his name but he didn’t turn. If he stopped for more than a second or two, he’d lose it. He had to keep this moving. They weren’t dead yet. They could still pull this off somehow.

He headed out from one of the side tunnels onto the valley floor, looking out into the darkness. Hannah was right by his side, and he looked over at the soft blue lights that signaled Samael’s camp. What was she thinking? They had no need to sleep, so what were they planning?

Besides that, the night itself was calm and Dean was about to go back inside when he spotted some movement out among the trees. A minute later, Crowley’s dinosaur came trotting out of the darkness without any of his gear, and Dean looked across the valley to Samael’s camp once more.

“Oh shit…” Dean breathed.

Wind off the sea swirled over the Indian continent and up into the Himalayas, all warmth lost when it reached Biab, surrounding Castiel as he looked out over the valley from the top of the mountain. He could feel the moment approaching, and his hands were trembling as he walked down from the frigid mountaintop to the central terrace. It extended out further than the others, giving him full view of the valley, but what was most important to him was that he was fully visible to anyone from that terrace.

As he watched, Samael’s forces began to spread out from the camp, forming ranks, and Castiel sighed, looking out to the east as the sun began to rise.

At the base of Biab, Briathos formed the remainder of their forces into ranks, Feles Alata, demons, angels, and humans alike. He stood alongside them, wings trembling, and the woman next to him adjusted her Kevlar vest, wiping sweat from her brow.

“We can hold them.” Briathos’ voice carried over the small group. “If we stand together, we can hold them.”

Bela tightened her grip on the assault rifles she’d picked up, Tzipporah’s ring on her right hand. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but her jaw was set.

Castiel watched from above as Samael’s forces surged forward, light gleaming off their wings in the growing sunrise, and he began to walk forward towards the edge of the terrace.

“Cas!”

The angel turned as Dean ran out, stopping at the edge of the entrance. Spires of pink spread across the sky, and Castiel turned to face him.

“Cas, I think Crowley was captured. If Samael has him, she’s going to open the Cage and then we’re facing Lucifer and Michael at each other’s throats.”

“It’s all right, Dean.” Castiel smiled, his hands resting at his sides, and Dean stared.

“Didn’t you hear me?”

“Of course. I’ll take care of it.” Castiel turned back to the edge of the terrace, looking down at the angels going to war beneath them.

“Cas…” Dean looked around. “Is it….is it time?”

“Yes.” Castiel breathed.

“Cas, you can’t, we need you! We have to go get Crowley, we’ve got less than fifty people left…”

“I know.” Castiel said softly. “That’s why it’s time.”

“And you? What about you?”

“For me...I see nothing.”

“No, Cas…” Dean gasped as Castiel looked away from him, and Dean started to run forward. He’d barely taken two steps before he felt someone grab him, and Sam was hauling him backwards, wrapping an arm around his chest.

“No!” Dean shouted, and Castiel turned one last time.

_I love you._

Dean shouted, and then Gabriel and Sam were pulling him back, both of them pushing him down as Gabriel shielded them both with his wings. Even with the archangel between them, the light that descended was blinding.

Castiel lifted his head to the sky and surrendered to his Grace. The molting Grace inside him that he had been holding back for months exploded outward. His wings manifested and the shorn feathers were blasted away under the growing surge of energy. All physical impression of his wings melted away until they were pure light, separating into the six massive wings of an archangel.

The rushing forces below slowed to a stop, staring up at Castiel as his Grace overwhelmed the growing dawn, light pouring from his form. In curiosity, Briathos’ forces moved out from the shadow of the mountain, looking up to the terrace where Castiel stood.

When the light faded, Castiel was framed by towering ebony wings. Light crackled through them, and Dean slowly got to his feet, flanked by Gabriel and Sam. Castiel stretched his wings and took a deep breath, then folded them down against his back, turning towards the three behind him.

“Cas…” Dean whispered as he neared them, the image of Castiel full of Purgatory souls and Leviathan springing to mind, but this was different. He could still feel Castiel through their bond, and Castiel still felt like Castiel, but he wasn’t in pain anymore. Then why did something feel wrong?

Castiel reached out, touching Sam’s forehead, and Sam flinched back, blinking, and Dean was forced to the side as Sam’s missing arm appeared as if it had never been torn away. Without a second of hesitation, Castiel touched Gabriel’s shoulder, and Dean felt a shudder pass through the archangel, light bursting from his eyes and Grace rippling through his wings as Castiel removed the Binding that Michael had placed there so long ago.

“Cas.” Dean murmured, stepping forward and taking his hand. “You okay?”

Castiel’s gaze met his, and Dean found himself searching the angel’s blue eyes for a semblance of his husband.

“Cas?”

Castiel pulled away, tugging his hand free, and in an instant, he was gone. Dean grit his teeth and followed, Gabriel and Sam at his sides.

After sending out her remaining forces, Samael set out with four of her most trusted angels, two of which were flanking Crowley as they headed away from the valley. The Hellking still carried his blade, but only because he wanted first shot at Michael when he sprang forth. In her desperation, Samael had quickly agreed to the opening of the Cage under Crowley’s terms, eager for the reins to be taken from her.

“Here.” Samael breathed. “The Veil is thin here.”

“Surprised you can sense anything with the Earth shifting like this,” Crowley huffed, and Samael just glared at him, reaching out and grabbing his shoulder, hauling him forward and holding her blade to his throat.

“It would be just as easy to slit your throat,”

“But where’s the fun in that?” Crowley chuckled, seemingly unnerved by her show of aggression.

“Remember, you are alone here.” Samael growled. “Michael will gut you.”

“We’ll see.” Crowley smiled. “Now get that stick off my throat, and let’s get started.”

“Yes.”

Both Crowley and Samael turned to see none other than Castiel, and Samael swallowed hard, unable to resist the intense power rolling off Castiel.

“It’s time to end this.” Castiel stated simply, looking to Samael. “You have been obeying the orders of the insane, but your unwillingness to see the truth leaves me with no choice but to find you guilty of crimes against your own kind.”

“What about your own sins?” Samael snapped, flaring her wings. “You murdered thousands of angels. You disobeyed orders. You brought us to this war.”

She reached out a hand, grabbing Crowley’s arm and slashing into his wrist.

“Face your own judgement, Castiel.”

Dean, Gabriel, and Sam appeared behind Castiel, and Sam yelped at the sight of Crowley in Samael’s hands.

“No!”

“Cas!” Dean shouted as Castiel stood there, watching Samael with something like amusement. He made no move to stop her, if anything, he seemed to be waiting for her to finish the incantation as Crowley’s blood fell onto the ground between them.

“ _Bvtmon tabges babalon_ …” Samael spoke into the dawn, and Sam took a nervous step back as the ground beneath them began to glow.

“Dean…” Sam whimpered, gripping Dean’s forearm, and Dean instinctively tucked Sam behind him.

Sam hid his face as light exploded up in a vertical beam, gripping tightly onto Dean and Gabriel as his very worst nightmare came to pass.

In seconds, the light faded, and the Cage closed on its own. Where the light had been stood a single man, familiar to them all.

“Adam.” Dean breathed at the same time a relieved smile broke out over Samael’s face.

“Michael.”

The archangel seemed surprised to find himself where he was, and Crowley tightened his grip on his blade, starting forward, but Castiel caught him by the arm, pulling him back.

“Cas!” Crowley hissed, but Castiel shook his head.

Samael rushed forward, ducking her head in respect. “Michael, I’ve followed your every order. I’ve brought you the Last Nephilim and the Great Seraph, traitors against the Word of our Lord. They’ve tried to deceive me, tried to say that you were mad and…”

She stopped mid sentence as he laid a hand on her shoulder. In his other hand, he held a silver blade piercing through her ribs to her heart.

“You're an idiot."

Grace burst beneath her skin, and he gently lowered her to the ground, pulling his blade free.

Crowley tensed, ready to fight, but Castiel simply stepped forward.

“Lucifer. Where’s Michael?”

Sam’s eyes widened and he took another step back as Dean and Crowley both stared, looking from Castiel to the other. The archangel jumped slightly, but turned, lifting his head to Castiel.

“Michael is dead.” Lucifer breathed. “He took his own life. I…”

Slowly, Lucifer lowered himself onto one knee before Castiel, laying the blood-stained blade at his feet.

“I can only beg for your forgiveness. I think it’s high time we stopped the fighting.”

Dean took a step forward, drawing his own blade. “Yeah, and since you’re the last enemy on the game board…”

Castiel caught his wrist, holding him back. “No.”

“Cas, what the Hell?” Dean protested. “This is Lucifer we’re talking about. He possessed Sam, he tried to destroy the world, he’s the freaking _Devil_ …”

“He is my brother.” Castiel said firmly, slowly releasing his wrist. “And if he asks for forgiveness, he shall receive it.”

“Cas...Lucifer killed you. And Bobby.” Dean growled. “And countless others. Angels.”

Lucifer lowered his head, his hands curling into fists on his thighs. Castiel nodded in response to Dean, bending and picking up Lucifer’s blade. He walked around Lucifer to stand beside him, moving without hurry or with any sense of caution. He placed two fingers on the back of Lucifer’s neck and the archangel hissed in pain as Castiel etched sigils into his skin and into his Grace.

“He will be Bound until such time as he proves his loyalty to the Balance.” Castiel explained, then offered Lucifer a hand to rise.

Dean clenched his jaw. “Tell him to let Adam go. Adam was never supposed to get mixed up in all this.”

“In time.” Castiel turned away from them, walking back towards the valley, and Lucifer followed humbly.

“The Hell is going on here…” Dean grumbled under his breath as he too turned to follow Castiel with Gabriel and Sam at his side.

After Castiel’s display, the forces in the valley stood silent, unwilling to wage war now without their leaders to guide them. The angels trembled under the weight of the new archangel’s might, and those following Samael waited with no little twist of fear. When Castiel appeared at the edge of the field with none other than Lucifer at his side, the angels parted around them like water.

Castiel reached out to them, finding their hands, their shoulders, and they slowly drew closer as they realized he intended them no harm.

“My brothers,” Castiel breathed, reaching out to them, a semblance of a smile on his face. “My sisters. I’m so sorry for what I have done to you, and for where this path has brought us. War is not the path our Father wrought for us, and I am truly sorry. I want to show you the truth, the true path that God intended for us to follow. We were meant as guardians, and Michael turned us into soldiers. Michael has been twisting us, all of us. I bore the marks of his Binding for years until Samael’s soldiers accidentally released it. Gabriel bore the marks of his Binding until I released him.”

“Why?” A soft voice asked, and Castiel turned, placing a gentle hand on the young angel’s shoulders.

“Michael lost his mate, Lucifer, and it drove him insane. We can only speculate what his thoughts were in mutilating Heaven as he did…”

“No…” Lucifer’s voice was quiet, bitter, and as he walked forward, there was a heaviness that seemed to drag him down, every inch of him. “No, we don’t have to speculate. He told me...he told me he wanted to be God. Because then, he could bring me home, and everything would be as it was.”

“How did he die?” Another angel asked, and Lucifer took a shuddering breath.

“He took his own life.” Lucifer lifted his head. “But he told me there was an angel imprisoned in Heaven that still had the true history of Heaven in his mind, that he had not been altered as the others had. The angel that guarded Eden.”

“Gadreel,” Castiel spoke. “Come forth.”

The angels parted and Gadreel came forward, holding his side where Grace leaked through his fingers. He held out a hand, and Castiel took it, helping him forward.

“I will give all I can.” Gadreel’s words were strangled, forced through gritted teeth, and Castiel touched his cheek with a gentle hand, and with his other hand touched his side. Gadreel straightened up as Castiel healed him, and slowly he turned, facing the other angels, holding out his hands.

“I will give you the Truth, if you will accept it,” Castiel spoke. “I will heal the damage that has been done, if you will allow me.”

Castiel reached forward, and took one of Gadreel’s outstretched hands, but the other angels hesitated, looking at one another, fear rippling through them as they had been told so many lies, the truth was now a frightening ideal.

“Excuse me. Pardon me.”

Dean stepped to the side as Garth squeaked through everyone to reach the center. The angels stared at him in confusion, but Garth just walked forward awkwardly and placed a hand on Castiel’s shoulder.

“I think we could use a little truth.”

Jehuviel stepped forward, looking around at the others who had followed Samael until that very moment, and he placed a hand on Gadreel’s shoulder.

“Brother.” Jehuviel whispered, and Gadreel nodded to him.

Dean and Sam shared a look as the movement rippled through the crowd of soldiers that had come, willing to die without really understanding why. Human, demon, and angel alike joined hands, wrists, shoulders, anything they could to bind themselves together and to the two angels standing in the center, offering them the most precious gift anyone could.

Crowley worked his way into the center, reaching out to Castiel, taking his free hand, and Castiel smiled, gripping his hand firmly. As they stood there, Castiel’s eyes began to glow.

Castiel’s Grace glimmered and grew, spreading through Gadreel and to the other angels, using his memory as the template to find and heal the damage Michael had done to every angel. The memories he saw there he shared with all those who had joined in with them, though they passed so quickly through the minds of the the demons and humans that they would have no memory of the event. Only in their subconscious would they find their answers, in wild dreams in the clearest nights would they find them.

Dean closed his eyes and let his mate’s Grace flow through him, feeling Sam shiver next to him, holding his brother’s hand tightly.

_We won. We’re free._

Tears filled his eyes and he lifted his head, looking sightlessly to the sky.

_We can go home._

The light of Castiel’s Grace flickered through the Earth itself as the Axis of the Three Seams shifted beneath them, and the work Michael had done to shift the Balance itself was undone.

It was dark when Castiel’s Grace finally faded, but the air was cleaner, the sun bright above them, warming the new grass beneath their feet, growing through the damaged brush the Azrael’s Staff had destroyed. The angels looked at each other in shared joy, a peace they had not known in so many years spreading through them.

“Crowley,” Castiel murmured. “I will need your assistance restoring Balance.”

“Of course.” Crowley gave him a little salute. “Always got to balance the scales, my friend. Let me mop up downstairs, and I’ll give you a call.”

Crowley winked as he stepped away, and Castiel nodded to him, letting the Hellking go and gather the remainder of his forces.

“My brothers, sisters,” Castiel reached out. “Return home, and I will join you shortly so that we can begin anew.”

Dean blinked, his attention snapping back to Castiel as the angels blinked out one by one, the sky full of their lights drifting away. “What?”

Castiel moved as if he didn’t hear him, walking over to Gravina. “Thank you, Sabrenlord, for your assistance. Please bear my gratitude to the Braceking, and to Eldest Ezrys.”

Gravina bowed. “Veilking.”

He bowed his head to Dean as well as he neared. “Earthking.”

“What?” Dean said again, but Gravina was already moving away, calling the Feles to him so that they could return to Ethalieh.

“Cas!” Dean huffed, running up and catching Castiel’s arm. “What did you mean, you’re going to Heaven?”

“I must return to Heaven. There’s much to be done.” Castiel’s voice was oddly cold, and Dean shook his head.

“No, we have to go home. We’ve got Simon, and the fledgling. Isn’t there somebody else who can do this stuff?”

“I am an archangel, and they need guidance.”

“Yeah, Gabe’s an archangel too. And....dammit, well, so is Lucifer. Make him do it.”

“You yourself expressed the sentiment that Lucifer could not be trusted.”

“Cas…” Dean grit his teeth. “Come on...this isn’t you.”

“My name is Castiel.” Castiel huffed, tugging his sleeve from Dean’s grip. “I have work to do.”

Dean stared at his mate as Castiel met his gaze with a fierce rebellion, and then it shifted, and Dean felt a moment of fear thread through from Castiel’s side of the bond.

“I’ve called you Cas since the day we met.” Dean breathed, almost trembling with his own disbelief. “It never bothered you before.”

Castiel turned and started to walk away, but Dean quickly followed. “Cas…”

“Perhaps you don’t know me as well as you imagined.”

“I don’t know you?” Dean exclaimed, incredulous. “Castiel, we are mates. You’ve been inside my head for...years now. I’ve been inside yours. I’ve been inside your Grace. I get you like nobody else except right now because you are freaking me the hell out! Trust me, I know you!”

Castiel stopped, and Dean backpedaled to keep from running into him. Castiel’s head dipped for a moment, then he looked up to meet Dean’s gaze.

“I wish I could say the same.”

Dean’s eyes widened, his throat suddenly dry. “You...are you...are you saying you don’t know me?”

“...yes.”

“You don’t know me.” Dean whispered, but his voice grew steadily louder with each followed word. “Me. Me! I’m Dean Winchester, Cas, the Righteous Man? The Michael Sword? Son of Mary and John Winchester, and I am your husband. Why are you saying you don’t know me?”

“I don’t know you, Dean.” Castiel repeated. “And I have more important matters at hand than this.” 

Dean watched Castiel walk away, his feet rooted to the ground, and he felt the bond tightened between them as it was stretched. He tried to reach out to Castiel through it, feeling Castiel’s warm Grace and the fury of confusion and frustration behind the angel’s smooth facade before a wall snapped down between them, shutting him out completely. Dean reeled from the sudden blow, stumbling backwards.

Sam had been coming up the valley with Gabriel at his side when he saw Dean stumble backwards, and he swore, running up and catching Dean against his chest.

“Easy, easy there, Dean...I’ve got you.” Sam breathed, holding his brother upright. “Dean?”

Gabriel ran up, placing a hand on his forehead. “He’s just disoriented. Castiel shut him out. He’ll be okay.”

“But he’s Castiel’s mate, won’t that...you know...make him go crazy?”

Gabriel shook his head. “Dean’s not an angel. He’ll cope.”

Sam supported Dean, hooking an arm around his waist and he grabbed his arm, pulling it over his shoulders.

“Gabe, can you get us back to...America, I guess?”

Gabriel smiled. “I think it’s time we check out what that key opens.”

As Gabriel stretched his wings to take them home, Castiel looked over, his wings briefly trembling as he sighed. He stretched his own wings, and Lucifer came to stand beside him.

“Captain,” Lucifer murmured, and Castiel nodded.

“Let’s go home.”

 

* * *

 

 

Aboapri - (Ah-bah-wa-peh-rahee) Enochian; “serve”; angelic term for Feles Alata

Biab- (Bee-ah-yah-beh) Enochian; “to stand”

“Bvtmon tabges babalon” - Enochian; “open the cage of the evil/wicked one”; incantation to open Lucifer’s Cage

Feles Alata - (feh-lehs ah-la-tah) Latin; “winged cats”; see also shiigren, Aboapri

kittren - (kiht-ch-rehn) Ethalien; roughly translates to “cat race”

-ren - ( -rehn) Ethalien; suffix signifying “race” or “people”

shasen - (shay-sehn) Ethalien; roughly translates to “friendly person”

shiigren - (shee-grehn) Ethalien; roughly translates to “cliff lizard race”

 ****  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	15. Descent

_OCTOBER_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_NOVEMBER_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_DECEMBER_

 

 

 

Steam rose from the mug of coffee, and he cupped both hands around it, leaning forward, taking in the aroma. He had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and Simon sat in his lap, curled into his warmth. The heat in the Men of Letters bunker was iffy at best, though Sam was out working on it right then.

Simon’s plate sat next to him on the table, blueberry and chocolate chip pancakes. Or well, it had been. Simon had gobbled them down as he had every morning. Though sometimes, they were raspberry instead of blueberry, and on rare occasions, they had Lucky Charms.

It all tasted like sandpaper to Dean.

Gabriel tried to explain. Sam tried to help.

_It’s going to be okay. He’ll be back. I promise._

Dean barely heard them. He didn’t care.

Crowley stopped by for Thanksgiving, and then for Christmas as well. Dean forgot he’d lost someone too, but Crowley seemed to be managing.

_I have a lot on my plate with Castiel’s new construction plans. I’m burying my head in work, though I suppose it’s better than sand._

Dean caught that barely veiled barb. He didn’t care.

He sat in his room and listened to Zeppelin until Simon came in to show off his bee-covered scarf.

_I watch the bees now._

The Supernatural books had been re-released, with the addition of _Based on Actual Events_ on the front cover. Disney wanted the rights to do a movie. So did everyone else. The grocery store had angel warding and devil’s traps on the bottoms of the mats. The bar had a salt line across the doorway. There was a new petition on Change.com to create donor sites and blood banks specifically for vampires, who would have to be registered to get blood there.

The world was moving forward.

Dean let it. He didn’t care.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He didn’t care.

He didn’t.

He

_Time is not real. Time only exists as it is perceived._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dean blinked, slowly opening his eyes and peeling his wings back, looking up at his son’s excited face.

“What is it, kiddo?”

_Time to go to school._

Dean groaned, sitting up and stretching, rubbing his eyes. “Simon, we’ve been over this, you’re not old enough yet.”

_I want to go_.

“Next year, munchkin.” Dean mumbled, laying back down and pulling his wings back over himself. “Let Daddy go back to sleep.”

_Uncle says Daddy needs to get up._

“Uncle can go to Hell…”

Simon giggled and jumped off the bed, running back into the living room, and Dean turned onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. The old bed creaked beneath him, the bare room barely standard. It was warm, and dry. There was good water pressure. All the things he needed.

He wondered if this was how Michael felt.

There was something twisting inside him, something that he couldn’t name. With every step he took, it twisted. Every day, it twisted, and twisted, and the tighter it grew, the closer Dean felt to snapping.

_...the gods toss a coin between greatness and madness…_

Damn, he wanted a drink.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dean sat straight up, pulling the knife from under his pillow, staring out into the darkness of his room. The crackling and popping sounded like gunshots, and it took him a few minutes to realize that the sounds were only fireworks outside, Sam and Gabriel celebrating the New Year with Simon.

A new year.

Dean got up slowly, and went to the bathroom, splashing water on his face. He looked up at himself in the mirror, and the sight there was just as despondent as he felt. His hair was getting long, well, long for him, and he had a good month-long beard running.

Hating someone would be easier. Being angry would be easier. How dare Castiel leave him like this. How dare he.

Dean had tried being angry. It hadn’t worked out.

He ate. He slept. He watched TV with Simon and read to him. He took very long, very hot showers. He groomed his wings.

For a while, he’d expected his Grace to drain away with Castiel’s absence, but it truly was his own. It prickled every so often, letting him know when another angel was near, but that generally just announced Gabriel’s return. For whatever reason, the angels weren’t coming near the bunker.

Upstairs, Sam was practicing his psychic abilities. Sam hadn’t told him about them yet. Maybe he’d forgotten that Dean had his own level of psychic abilities, or maybe he knew, and figured he didn’t have to tell Dean. Either way, Dean thought he’d be more frustrated at the idea. Weren’t they tempting fate? But Castiel had rewritten Sam’s blood to clean it of all the demon blood. Had Sam always been psychic, and the demon blood just...altered his abilities? Maybe.

He kept expecting there to be pain when someone mentioned Castiel, but it all absorbed into the great black hole in his chest. He felt like a Hollow. He was hollow.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gabriel returned from a three-week span in Heaven.

Human souls were getting involved in the clean-up, mostly hunters. Kevin was working hand-in-hand with Metatron now, salvaging the Archives. Naomi had been freed from the Axis’ hold, and it was running on its own. Gadreel was assisting in rebuilding human-angel relations.

Castiel was managing everything, restoring order to Heaven, bringing back angels that had fallen in the war. He was even working with President Collins on something, but Gabriel wasn’t sure exactly what.

President Collins was expected to win reelection by a landslide, if he decided to run. He was teasing the press by saying he’d been approached to play Castiel in the upcoming movies.

“How’s Castiel though?” Sam asked, glancing over his shoulder to see if Dean were nearby and ducking his head.

Gabriel sighed, grabbing them both a soda from the fridge. “He’s...complicated.”

“What about the fledgling?”

“They’re both fine physically, but Castiel is working himself too hard. I tried to get him to take a break, but he wasn’t interested in listening. Dean needs to see him. He needs to see Dean.”

“Ugh, I just wish Dean would snap out of this funk. You said that losing the connection wouldn’t affect him like this.”

“Baby, this isn’t because Dean is part angel. This funk is all Dean.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So much for believing he was going mad.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The cogs of the clock ticked forward, winding, grinding, pushing time forward with every tick. Dean sat at the table in the library, watching the ancient clock atop the mantle clicking away the seconds, and seconds became minutes which became hours and he watched them all melt away, sipping at his soda.

Cogs inside him. Twisting. And twisting. He could feel it pulling inside him now, an ever growing scream that would one day lash out when he couldn’t hold it at bay any longer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It happened on a Tuesday.

Dean was sitting at the table in the library as he had for so many days before when he suddenly stood, startling Sam who’d been bringing him a sandwich.

“Dean?”

He didn’t say a word, just walked past Sam up to the kitchen and grabbed his keys. He went back to his room, and began to pack.

“Dean, where are you going?”

“I just need to drive.” Dean muttered. “I’ll be back.”

Sam sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. “Call me when you get...wherever you’re going, okay?”

“I’ll be fine.” Dean snapped, grabbing some of Simon’s clothes and shoving them in the duffel.

“You’re taking Simon?”

“He’s my son.”

“Dean, you know damn well you are not taking him on the road with you. You’re not gonna make him live like that.”

Dean stalked past him to Simon’s room. “Come on, buddy. We’re gonna go for a ride, would you like that?”

Simon clapped his hands as Dean lifted him up, setting him on his hip. Sam covered his eyes with a hand, shaking his head as Dean passed him.

“Dean…”

Dean ignored him, heading down to the garage, and he fitted Simon into his booster seat. Buzz was on the seat next to him and Simon grabbed him.

“Bzzzz!” Simon beamed, holding him up.

“That’s right. Bzz.” Dean breathed, closing the door and tossing his duffel in the back seat.

Sliding into the driver’s seat, he felt more at home that he had in months. He slid in a mix tape of his favorites and turned the volume up since it wouldn’t bother Simon. Simon liked the vibrations anyway.

He tore out of the garage, the Impala purring in his hands, and he set himself to putting miles between everything and himself.

 

Somewhere past Colorado, Dean stopped for gas, and right next door in the one stoplight town there was a liquor store. He hung up the pump, glancing at Simon who was asleep in the back seat, the windows rolled down. Sighing, he gently got Simon out of his booster, hefting him on his hip. The boy barely blinked at him before going back to sleep, and Dean headed over.

Just the smell of the inside of the liquor store was a sweet relief, and he walked over, immediately picking out a fifth of his favorite whiskey. He splurged a little on the good stuff, but he had years to make up for. The old woman at the counter barely lifted her head as she counted his money and placed the bottle in a bag.

Dean drove on with the bottle in the passenger seat, unopened. Just there. An unscathed promise. Something to fill the hole.

They stopped for dinner. Simon ate a cheeseburger. Dean didn’t eat, just sipped his soda.

Across the street was a park, so Dean let Simon play for a while. He texted Sam. Sam asked him to come home. They both knew that wasn’t going to happen.

They spent the night at a motel. Simon’s first. Dean didn’t sleep. He simply folded his wings around his son and held him close.

 

The next day the road didn’t come with any relief. On this day, every turn of the Impala’s wheels only twisted him tighter. His knuckles white on the steering wheel, unopened bottle of whiskey in the passenger seat, and his son...his life...cradled in the back seat, playing with his iPad. Simon was pretty easy to entertain, and certainly didn’t understand the dangers of what they were doing.

 

Dean didn’t know where he was going, but he drove for three days, stopping each night to let Simon sleep. He made Simon breakfast, gave him a bath, let him play, and then they were on the road again.

Driving. Twisting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_The road goes ever on and on._

_And on_

_And on_

_And on_

He was facing a turning point. He didn’t expect it to hit him so fast, but the Impala rolled to a stop just before it went out onto the bridge. It was a fifty or sixty foot drop to the rushing water below, and Dean leaned back, putting the car in park and letting it idle. Simon was playing with Buzz in the backseat, fabricating a beautiful story in his mind about a magic garden.

Dean picked up the bottle of whiskey. He got out of the car. He walked forward onto the bridge, and stopped about midway across, leaning against the pylons, the stick-thin railing that looked like it could disintegrate if he so much as touched it.

He unscrewed the top of the whiskey bottle, holding it by the neck as he rested it on the top rail.

He looked up at the growing storm clouds, swirling like the chaos inside him, his entire self trying to fill the hole that Castiel had left. He’d been wound so tight, he was surprised he hadn’t snapped yet.

“Dean?”

Dean jumped in surprise at the voice, turning to see Garth standing a few feet away. His old truck was parked behind the Impala, and Dean ran a hand through his hair, surprised when it reached below his ears.

“How…”

“Sam asked me to tail you.” Garth murmured, his hands in his jacket pocket, not making any move to come closer. “You need to talk?”

“Nah…” Dean shook his head, leaning on the railing. “I’m good.”

“I’m a good listener.” Garth didn’t back down. “You start, I won’t say anything. I’ll just listen.”

Dean hung his head between his shoulders, gripping the railing and his whiskey bottle tightly.

“You’re not Michael.” Garth whispered. “You don’t have to follow that path.”

The whiskey bottle shattered in the middle of the street, Dean stumbling from the force of the throw.

“IT’S NOT FUCKING _FAIR_!”

He twisted, grabbing a rock and throwing it off the bridge. Garth didn’t move, just watched and listened.

“After everything we went through!” Dean continued, scrambling for rocks, sticks, anything that he could throw. “Everything we did! Everything we sacrificed, and this is what we end up with! It’s _not fair!_ ”

Dean turned one last time and the gravel twisted beneath him, knocking him off balance and he hit the pavement hard. At last Garth moved, calmly walking over to him, and when he knelt down next to Dean, the hunter was sobbing.

“There we go,” Garth murmured, gripping Dean’s shoulders and pulling him up into a careful hug. Dean curled against him, pushing his head against Garth’s shoulder, unable to stop the agony from pouring out of him, his wings spread out against the pavement like a shroud, so he just...

“Just let it go.” Garth wrapped his arms around Dean, holding him close.

“It’s not fair…” Dean sobbed, his fists clenching on Garth’s jacket. “I told him that whatever happened, we’d face it together, and then he just...shuts me out and I feel so _empty_ and I miss him _so much_ and I know he has to be hurting too, but it’s just like his dumb ass to suffer and not say anything and I just...I just want him _home_.”

“I know,” Garth nodded, rocking him gently. Dean didn’t say anything else, but cried himself out there, sitting in the middle of the bridge, whiskey pooling in a circle around them. Even then, when his breathing steadied out, Garth held him and he relaxed against him.

“He’ll come back. Have faith.”

Dean blinked, pulling back slowly and looking up at Garth. “What did you say?”

“Have faith.” Garth smiled.

Dean lifted his head, looking up as it began to rain. He chuckled with a dry smile, and he could hear Castiel’s voice on the words. Every soft kiss, every touch of his hand, brush of a wing, and a quiet reminder. _Have faith._

He nodded to himself, and groaned as he pushed himself up, shaking out his wings and dusting off his pants. Garth got up as well, smiling.

“Come on. I got a place nearby we can stay for the night.”

Dean nodded, taking a deep breath of the cool air, the tension inside him easing. The screw that had been twisting inside him for so long fell away, and he pushed his hands over his face, his fingers damp as the wind pushed the rain under the covered bridge. He looked up at the rolling clouds and the cleansing rain and felt it all wash away.

Simon pushed the back door open, stepping out and looking at him.

_Daddy?_

Dean smiled and headed over, tickling his stomach. “Get back inside, silly, you’ll get wet!”

Simon squealed, but crawled back into the back seat, buckling himself into his booster. Dean got into the driver’s seat, taking a deep breath. As he sat there, staring forward at the bridge, a small smile slowly spread over his face. The radio crackled, and he looked down as an old Zeppelin song began to play. His smile broadened, his eyes crinkling, and he put the car in reverse as he began to sing along.

“ _Should I fall out of love, my fire in the light, to chase a feather in the wind…”_

He sang the song to Simon in his mind, and Simon began to hum along off-key. Dean’s heart swelled as he followed Garth along.

“ _All of my love, all of my love…”_ His voice grew weaker around the lump in his throat.

_All my love to you_

_“ All my love to you…_ ” He whispered, closing his eyes for just a moment.

For the first time in months, Dean reached out and touched the wall that Castiel had placed between them. He could feel Castiel’s warmth just beyond it, but beyond that, the voice he’d gotten so used to hearing alongside his own was quiet. He pressed his Grace against the wall, pressing his love and his faith against it, willing it through.

_I’m here when you get ready to come home._

 

“It’s not much, but it’s dry.”

The light in the mud room of Garth’s house flickered, threatening to go out before glowing steadily.

“It’s great, Garth, thank you,” Dean breathed, helping Simon out of his jacket and shaking out his own coat.

“I’ll order a pizza.” Garth smiled. “And there’s some Cokes in the fridge. Help yourself.”

Dean nodded, kneeling down to help Simon get his shoes off.

_Daddy_

“What’s up, buddy?” Dean asked, looking up and brushing his son’s wet hair back.

_Do you think Papa hears my prayers?_

Dean’s eyes widened slightly, and just as fast an ache plunged through him as he looked up at his son. “You pray to Papa?”

Simon nodded. _Papa said if I pray, he will come. But he’s not here. I don’t think he’s hearing me._

Dean closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “Papa’s really busy right now. He had to go to Heaven, and take care of some stuff. You understand?”

Simon tilted his head. _And he’ll be home when he’s done?_

Dean smiled, though the strain the simple action caused him was obvious. “I hope so.”

_Maybe if we pray more so he knows we miss him._

“That’s a good idea, buddy.” Dean took his hand. “Let’s go get into some dry clothes, okay?”

Simon nodded, and clutched Buzz to his chest, following Dean back into the spare bedroom.

“What do you guys like on your pizza?” Garth called from the kitchen.

“Simon doesn’t like pepperoni. Anything else is fine.” Dean called back, ruffling Simon’s hair.

He pulled out Simon’s favorite sleeper tee and helped him get his wet clothes off and into the warm t-shirt that he’d stolen from Castiel who had stolen it from Dean. Seeing his son in the well-worn Zeppelin tee just made his heart ache, but this time, he decided not to let it overwhelm him. He needed a project. He needed something to keep his mind off the pain.

Just as he was thinking this, he got an image from Simon showing himself crying, and then a clear image of himself and Castiel. Dean closed his eyes, sighing.

_You miss Papa._

“Yeah, buddy,” Dean breathed. “I miss Papa.”

_Do you pray to Papa?_

“No…” Dean admitted, dropping his head. He should’ve been praying to Castiel. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of that before.

_You should._

Dean smiled and kissed Simon’s forehead. “You’re right. I’ll do that tonight.”

 

Garth was waiting for them in the living room when Dean and Simon came out in clean, dry clothes, and Dean sat down in one of the chairs, holding Simon in his lap. Garth smiled and waved to Simon.

“Hi Simon.” He signed.

Dean flinched. “He doesn’t know sign language.”

“Sam’s been teaching him.” Garth said as Simon waved, and quickly signed ‘hello’ back.

“What else has been going on that I don’t know about?” Dean grumbled, and Garth laughed.

“A whole lot. Like, President Collins has been talking about a specialized branch of the military to handle supernatural cases.”

“That’ll work well.” Dean rolled his eyes and Garth nodded, laughing.

“Yeah, you’re right. The moment they try to red tape it, it’s going to fall apart.”

“What else?” Dean asked, and Garth shrugged.

“Oh, um, Castiel and Crowley are working on balancing Heaven and Hell so they’re not warring anymore. It’s no longer a fight for control of Earth. Earth is in charge of its own destiny.”

Dean closed his eyes in relief. “Exactly what he wanted to do.”

“You didn’t think he would?”

“I was just afraid...with the way he left…” Dean breathed. “I was afraid it was like before.”

“After the bit with him and Crowley and...uh, Purgatory?”

“Yeah.”

Garth shook his head, taking a sip of his soda. “No, Castiel’s in full control of himself. He’s just scared.”

“Scared?” Dean sat up, setting Simon down on the couch next to Garth. “What do you mean, he’s scared?”

Garth sat forward. “Dean, what do you think Cas meant when he said what he said?”

“That he doesn’t remember me.” Dean said, certain that much had been obvious. “Like, some kind of amnesia.”

Garth shook his head. “I don’t...I don’t think it’s like that. I mean, I think he knows who you are. He knows you’re Dean Winchester. He knows you’re the Righteous Man. He knows you’re the child of Mary and John Winchester, he knows how old you are, how many freckles you have, every beat of your heart…but he doesn’t _know_ you. He doesn’t remember _who_ you are.”

Dean frowned, looking at him, eyes narrowing, and he looking down at his hands, then back up at Garth.

“How do you know that?”

Garth shook his head. “Just a feeling. I’ve learned to trust them over the years.”

Dean tried to imagine what could take those memories from Castiel, or if that even make sense. If Castiel remembered him, why couldn’t he remember what it was like to be his mate? What was scaring him? He was right here.

 

As darkness fell, Dean went inside, locking the doors and setting up wards. Of course, he trusted Garth, but when his son was at stake, he wouldn’t risk anything.

Simon was fast asleep, sprawled across the bed as much as any four year old could. Dean sat down on the far side of the bed, taking off his boots, the long week finally sinking into him. He closed his eyes, rubbing the back of his neck, and he looked up at the ceiling.

"Guess if I'm gonna do this, I better do it right." He mumbled.

Dean turned, getting down on his knees and folding his hands on the bed. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

_Dear Castiel...you know I suck at this. Well...you used to. I...I don't know what to say except...I miss you so much, you ass. I love you. I'm always going to love you. Let me help you. Just come down here and talk with me. That's all I'm asking. Hope, uh...hope everything up there is running smoothly. Don't let Crowley bug you too much._

Opening his eyes, Dean had almost half hoped to see Castiel there waiting for him. When the room was still dark, still empty, he sighed running his hands through his hair.

“Typical.” He sighed, but got up, crawling into bed next to Simon. He folded his wings over his son, and drifted off into what he could only hope would be a dreamless sleep.

_For the first time in what felt like years, Dean found himself on a hillside he recognized from one of the first times he'd ever seen Castiel in his dreams. He could see the dock where he'd been fishing, the lake, and the sunset._

_"Cas?"_

_When there was no answer, Dean slowly sank down onto the damp grass, looking out over the water._

_"You know..." He smiled. "We started in a dream. Feels like it was forever ago. I had a wet dream about you. And then, after a few of them, you started sneaking into them, and I guess you liked what you saw. Our first time having sex was in a shower after you'd been poisoned.  You wanted us to just kill you, but we fought and scraped until we found a cure. I still didn't understand then. I didn't understand what I meant to you. What it meant to be an angel's mate."_

_He slowly laid back, folding his arms behind his head, looking up at the sky._

_"I'm still learning, I think. I don't even know how long we have anymore. I always figured I had ten or so years left. Maybe twenty if I was lucky. Now...I'm part angel. How long do Nephilim live anyway? What do you get when you divide eternity by the average life span of human? Am I going to watch Simon grow old? Die?"_

_Dean closed his eyes, lowering one hand to his stomach. "Now I'm sleeping inside the dream I'm having while I'm asleep."_

_He didn't notice when a familiar angel came to sit next to him, looking down at him curiously._

 

In the morning, Dean woke to the sound of dishes clinking together in the kitchen and he got up, poking his head in to see Simon fixing himself a bowl of cereal.

"Why didn't you wake me up, buddy?"

Simon shrugged and grinned up at him. "Da want?"

"Nah, kiddo, you eat that. Daddy's gonna get a shower. You stay in the house, okay?"

"'kay Da."

Dean kissed the top of Simon’s head as he sat down at the table with his cereal and grabbed a towel. He took a quick shower, then searched the undersink cabinet for clippers.

"Ugh." He grunted, catching sight of himself in the mirror. "I cannot believe I let myself go this much. I'd leave me too. Looking like a freaking caveman."

It took him a little over half an hour to finish trimming his hair and shaving his beard. He gave himself a wink in the mirror, and cleaned up the bathroom so he could give Simon a bath.

"Da! Da!"

Dean raced to the living room at the tone of Simon's voice, and he skidded to a stop as Simon was sitting on the couch.

"Pa tv!"

Dean's eyes widened, slowly sitting down next to Simon and wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"Da what say!?"

Dean blinked, quickly replaying what the TV was saying to Simon, but he himself couldn't take his eyes from the angel standing next to President Collins as he addressed the press. He was a world of difference from the angel that Dean had all but carried up the mountain, the sickly, aching angel that had collapsed more than once on the journey to the end. Dean felt his heart swell with pride.

"Look at your Papa, Simon. Up there with the President of the United States, being so brave in front of all those people."

Simon giggled and bounced in place. Dean pulled him close, grinning. "Way to go, Cas."

He was pretty sure he wasn't crazy when Castiel lifted his head from the humble position in which he'd been standing, looking directly into the camera, directly into his eyes.

Just like that it was gone as the camera switched to a close-up angle of President Collins as he took press questions.

Dean took a deep breath, his hands trembling, and Simon looked up at him.

"Da?"

"I'm okay..." Dean said automatically, and leaned down to kiss the top of his head. "Hey, do you remember where we used to live?"

He gave Simon an image of their house, but Simon shook his head. Dean nodded.

"That's okay." Dean smiled. "We'll make new memories."

Simon grinned and nodded, jumping up to hug him tightly. Dean closed his eyes, holding him close.

"Let's go get packed up. We got one more long drive."

"Okay Da."

Dean patted Simon's hip as the boy ran back to their room, hurriedly stuffing the most important things into his backpack: Buzz, his Peter Pan book, and his iPad. Dean took care of packing the clothes and a few non-perishables from the kitchen, setting it all in the trunk of the Impala.

It was a long drive from Utah to a little town outside of Sioux Falls. Dean felt his heart clench when he passed by the turn-off to Bobby's house. Simon would never know his grandfather, not know how Bobby had loved him, cared for him when he was just a baby. Dean took a deep breath, and drove on.

The land where their house had been had healed after the violent destruction. There was still some broken and charred boards, bricks lining where the foundation had been, but the charred ground had been replaced by new growth. Dean brought the Impala to a stop outside the remarkably still-intact garage, and Simon got out behind him, clutching his backpack.

"Da?"

Dean reached for his hand, and Simon stayed close to him as they walked up to the house.

It was like walking through a graveyard. Everywhere he looked, Dean saw the remains of all that they had lost. A barely standing banister, the charred shell of Castiel's double wall oven...a shimmer of glass caught Dean's eye and he let go of Simon's hand to bend down, brushing ash from the shattered picture frame. There was a prick in his eye as he looked at the family portrait Gabriel had insisted on. They'd gotten a single picture of them all behaving, but Dean had much preferred the ones where they were all caught in a single moment of laughter. The idea of them sitting down to do family portraits had just seemed so apple pie that none of them could hold it in for long.

"Da!"

Dean straightened up, holding the picture tightly, and he saw Simon across the yard where the back porch once had been. He couldn't help but laugh when he reached him.

The angel's attack had destroyed almost everything, but here there was life. Castiel's garden had grown wild, bright flowers mixing in with the vegetables. A light dusting of snow covered them, but they didn't seem to mind, hardly even wilting.

"Bent, but not broken." Dean breathed, kneeling down, curling his hand under a sinking purple bloom. Just as simply, he looked up, and across the fields rose the stone of the Novak Memorial. Still there. Still strong.

He looked up at Simon, and in his son's brilliant smile was the answer.

Their life wasn't gone. It just needed a little elbow grease.

 

They stayed at the homestead until the sun began to set. By noon, both of their shirts were thrown across the hood of the Impala, despite the chilly temperatures of early spring. With Simon at his side, Dean carried the charred boards and remains of the house to a burn pile on the edge of the homestead. Simon helped, gathering little pieces of wood, nails, and other little things he could carry.

“Come on, Simon.” Dean called as the sun touched the trees on the horizon. “Time to go find a place to sleep for the night.”

Simon jogged over, pulling his shirt and coat on, and picking up Buzz.

“Where, Da?”

“Don’t know.” Dean shrugged, picking him up and just holding him for a moment. Looking back, it didn’t look like there was much progress, but Dean felt good for the first time in a long time.

 

The Impala rumbled into the small town that they had almost avoided since moving to the farmhouse. They had been afraid of stirring up the old-fashioned Dakota town, with Dean flashing back to their wayward experiences back in 1983, and Gabriel was enough of a nuisance on his own, frequenting the town’s only bar on the weekends.

It seemed the town hadn’t escaped the destruction of the angels. Everywhere Dean looked, there was some form of clean-up or new construction going on. The people, however, looked happy, and many of them stood joking at a diner that gleamed in the sunlight, a fresh coat of white paint that showed just how resilient these people were.

On the edge of town, there was a clean-looking building with a sign that read ‘Redemption Inn’ in hand-worked cedar, red neon letters beckoning them in with a simple ‘vacancy.’ Dean took a deep breath as he pulled into the parking lot, cutting the Impala’s engine and looking back at Simon. He’d promised himself that first night after he’d left the bunker that Simon would never know what it was like to sleep in a car, but as he looked into his wallet, he barely had thirty dollars left.

Dean sighed, leaning his head back and looking up at the Impala’s tan fabric roof. He couldn’t make money appear out of nowhere, and he wasn’t going to dupe the owner inside with some fancy angel magic. He could call Sam and ask him to wire him some money, but that meant telling him where he was, and he wasn’t sure he could handle Sam’s lecture just yet.

“Okay, buddy,” Dean murmured, getting out, closing his eyes against the blast of chilly air. It looked like they were gearing up for a late spring snowstorm, and he would not risk Simon to the cold. He knelt outside the back door, helping Simon into his coat, zipping it up tightly and kissing his cheek.

The office was warm and cozy, and Dean set Simon down, the boy immediately shedding his coat and half-running across the room to drop to his knees in front of a Labrador who seemed more white than yellow. Before Dean could warn his son, he was giggling as the dog began licking every part of the boy he could reach, his entire body wagging with his tail. Dean smiled, and the click of the swinging door behind the counter alerted him to the presence of the host.

“Good evening, and welcome to Redemption.” The man smiled, dark hair peppered with salt, and Dean smiled in return, heading over.

“Evening.” Dean tried to turn on the charm. “I’m...I’m going to be honest with you. I used to live up the way, in the farmhouse back in the woods.”

“The Wiggins farm, yes. Shame what happened.” The man nodded, narrowing his eyes at him.. “S’been the talk of the town ever since. Not sure quite what went down, but it put us all on edge.”

“You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Dean laughed lightly. “Well, I’m...I’m working on rebuilding, and I need a place to stay for me and my son. I...I don’t have much money right now, but I’ll give you the papers of my car to hold as collateral until I can pay you. I’m gonna call my brother-in-law in the morning, and see if I can get him to wire me some money.

The man continued to scrutinize him, and Dean swallowed, fear suddenly gripping him that they’d get turned away and Simon...he couldn’t think about that.

“You’re that guy from TV.” The man said suddenly. “That guy with the angel...um...what’s his name…”

He was snapping his fingers, looking down as he tried to spark his own memory, and Dean couldn’t speak, his own eyes wide.

“Dan-something…”

“Dean…” Dean said quietly.

“Dean Winchester!” The man cried, triumphant, pointing at Dean. “Mary Lee! Come in here! It’s Dean Winchester! In my hotel!”

An older woman came out from the back, and she smiled at the sight of him. She quickly dusted flour off her hands, coming around the counter to offer him a hand.

“Thank you.” She said softly, covering his hand in both of hers. “Thank you so much.”

“He used to live at the Wiggins farm!” The man continued. “Right up the road, all along!”

Dean blinked, unsure how to react.

“Match, stop fussing.” She said, her voice as soft as his was exuberant. “Can’t you tell he’s had a long day?”

“I’m sorry.” He hurriedly came around the counter, shaking Dean’s hand with enough to rattle his wings. “It’s just such an honor to meet you. I’m John Matcher, but everyone around here calls me ‘Match.’ And this is my wife, Mary Lee.”

“John…” Dean breathed. “John and Mary…”

“That’s right, sir.”

“Please.” Dean closed his eyes. “Just Dean. I’m not a ‘sir.’”

“Right.” Match said, and went right back around the counter, pulling out a key from a drawer. “This is our best room. Full bath, king bed, right over the furnace so you’ll stay nice and toasty. You stay here as long as you need to, and don’t you dare hesitate to ask for anything. Mary Lee makes breakfast at eight, or later if you want to sleep in, you just come right on down.”

“Da!” Simon called, enthusiastically rubbing the dog’s ears. “Want!”

Dean smiled. “That’s their dog, Simon, you can’t have him.”

“Oh, Colonel needs somebody to play with.” Mary Lee smiled. “He’s been lonesome since our children moved away.”

“Do you have bags?” Match asked.

“Just a couple.” Dean murmured. “I can get them.”

“Well, it’s upstairs and, you’ve had a long day…oh, and we’ve warded the whole place, so you don’t have to worry about anything.”

Dean blinked. “You...warded?”

“Yeah.” Match grinned. “Just like the website says.”

“Website?”

He nodded, smile never faltering. “The one the government posted after you and Castiel made that announcement. All those, uh, symbols against angels and stuff.”

“Mind if I check them?”

“Go right ahead. They’re over the doors. That’s been the custom it seems.”

Dean turned, looking up over the doors to see several warding symbols against both angels and demons in a neat line above the frame.

“Huh.”

“Are they right?”

Dean nodded. “And...people have been doing this?”

“Everybody in town’s got’m. Didn’t save us from a few aftershocks from Yellowstone, but we haven’t had any trouble from the unnatural.”

Dean nodded, and looked over to see Simon yawning. “Well, uh, I’m gonna grab our stuff, and…”

“I’ll show you to your room.”

Mary Lee walked over, offering Simon a hand. “Come on, sweetie.”

Simon looked up at her, then to Dean in confusion.

“Oh, he’s deaf, ma’am.”

“But you were…”

“I can talk to him in his head.” Dean said, tapping his forehead. “Side effect of being married to an angel. I’m just in the habit of saying it as well. Just feels natural to me, I guess.”

“Oh.” Mary Lee’s face fell, and Dean smiled to Simon.

“It’s okay, buddy. She’s nice.”

Simon beamed then, standing up and taking her hand. Colonel got to his feet as well, staying glued to Simon’s side as they went out, getting their bags from the Impala then heading upstairs to their room. Simon jumped from each step, and whenever he lost his balance, Colonel was there to push him up. Dean smiled, leaning down to rub the dog’s ears.

At their room, Simon immediately ran and jumped on the bed, patting it eagerly until Colonel jumped up as well, laying down on the foot of the bed.

“Simon…” Dean sighed, rolling his eyes, but he turned to offer a hand to Match.

“Thank you.”

Match shook his head as he gripped Dean’s hand tightly. “It’s the least we can do for you, after all you’ve done for us. Well, mankind. And stuff.”

“Is eight alright for breakfast?” Mary Lee asked, and Dean nodded.

“Eight’s fine. Thank you.”

“Have a good night, Dean.” She smiled, tugging Match back downstairs with her, and Dean sighed, closing the door and sinking in relief onto the bed.

Match was right, the room was warm and Dean soon felt the heat sinking into him, weighing his eyes down. He still had to give Simon a bath, and find him something to eat for dinner, and...

 

Simon watched as Dean fell asleep, the buzz in his mind that was the presence of his father drifting away. He smiled, and scooted over, kissing his father’s forehead and draping a blanket over him. He then jumped off the bed, Colonel following him back downstairs.

He looked down at the dog, tapping his mouth, and he watched Colonel open his mouth, jumping slightly, then the dog trotted off. Simon ran after him, and Colonel led him into an open room where the woman Dad had said was nice was doing something. She looked up at him, and her mouth moved for a moment, then she smiled. Simon bit his lip, then just as he had with Colonel, he tapped his mouth. She nodded, and went to the fridge. Simon followed her, standing at her side, and he couldn’t help but smile. Her apron strings reminded him of Papa.

She took out a bowl of what looked like beef cubes in a brown sauce, and he nodded. She pulled it out, putting it in a pot to warm it up, and then put some curly noodles in another pot with water. Simon dragged a chair over, standing over it to see, and she handed him a wooden spoon with a smile. He liked her eye crinkles. He stirred the noodles with both hands, giggling as Colonel stood at his feet, tail wagging.

 

Match glanced into the kitchen, smiling at the sight of Simon and Mary Lee cooking together, and he picked up the office phone.

“Hey Red, it’s Match. You won’t believe who I’ve got at the Inn…...Dean Winchester….Yeah, _the_ Dean Winchester….He’s rebuilding the Wiggins farm, says he and the Angel Castiel used to live there. Look, I’ve got an idea. Can you get the guys together?”

 

The sunlight woke Dean, despite the curtains, and he stirred, rubbing his eyes and sitting up. His heart skipped a beat when he realized that he’d fallen asleep without taking care of Simon, and he jumped to his feet, nearly falling over the blanket that had been draped over him. He looked down in surprise, then looked behind him to see Simon and Colonel curled up in bed together, Simon in his sleep tee with an arm slung over the old dog.

He smiled and tucked the blanket up around him, rubbing the dog’s head, and he took a quick shower before heading downstairs. Match looked up from the counter and offered him a huge grin.

“Morning!”

“Hey…” Dean mumbled, rubbing his face with both hands.

“Let me guess,” Match smiled. “Coffee?”

“Please.”

“How do you take it?”

“Two sugars, please.” Dean murmured, and Match waved him back to the kitchen. Mary Lee was back there, and it looked like she was making pancakes. She smiled at him as Match put two spoonfuls of sugar from a small crock that might have once been white, with blue flowers painted on the enamel. Age had yellowed the lacquer, but not for lack of love. Paired with the sweet smell of coffee, and Dean took a seat at the table, rubbing his face. He cupped his hands around the mug of coffee when Match set it in front of him, taking deep breaths of the aroma.

“Simon’s a good cook.” Mary Lee said, her soft voice filling the room like the warm smell of the coffee beans. “He came down last night to help me with supper.”

Dean groaned, pushing his fingers through his hair. “I fell asleep as soon as I hit the bed. I can’t believe I left him to fend for himself.”

Mary Lee shook her head, bringing him a plate of pancakes. “Simon is a good kid, and that means you’re a good dad.”

A few minutes later, Simon came down with his dark hair spiking in every direction, rubbing his eyes. He came over to Dean and wrapped his arms around him, laying his head on his shoulder. Dean couldn’t help but smile and wriggled an arm loose to wrap around his shoulders.

“Want some pancakes, bud?”

Simon nodded, slowly climbing into Dean’s lap and laying against his chest. Dean wrapped his arms around him and closed his eyes, leaning down and pressing his lips against Simon’s forehead.

_You know Daddy loves you._

_I know._

_And Papa loves you._

_I know...when is Sissa coming home?_

Dean couldn’t help but smile. _When Papa does. And you could have a brother, you know._

_I don’t want a brother. If it’s a brother, you have to send it back._

Dean laughed, tickling Simon briefly, before turning him around so he could eat. Simon immediately pulled what had been Dean’s plate of pancakes towards him, and Dean took his form and knife to cut them into triangles.

Mary Lee leaned back against the counter, looking at the two of them. She watched as Dean helped Simon get a grip on his fork, and held him as he started to feed himself. Dean kept him close, and she knew in her heart that he was born to be a father, a caretaker, not only of his child but of everyone. Who else could so selflessly take on the monumental task of saving the world so many times? 

Simon lifted one of the pieces and held it up for Dean, who took it, chuckling. Mary Lee smiled, looking at her husband, who was grinning over his cup of coffee.

“We have a little surprise for you,” Match said when they were through eating.

Dean looked up, a little suspicious. Match just laughed. “Come outside when you get ready.”

Slowly, Dean let Mary Lee take their plate before leading Simon upstairs and getting him dressed for the few inches of snow that had fallen overnight.

“Let’s go see what Match’s surprise is.” Dean muttered, and Simon gripped his hand tightly. At the feeling of how cold his fingers were, Dean resolved to find him some mittens.

Downstairs, the office and kitchen were empty so Dean headed outside, looking for Match and Mary Lee. However, what he found was what looked like the entire town standing outside the hotel. Rugged, down to earth country folk wearing a mix of corduroy and plaid, and Dean felt right at home. There were at least three large trucks mixed in among the crowd, and Dean started forward with Simon. Colonel came running over, doing his trademark body wiggle. Simon laughed and flung both arms around the dog.

“Match…” Dean called, seeing the man standing nearby. “What’s going on?”

“You said you were rebuilding your home, right?”

Dean nodded, looking around.

“Well,” Match grinned. “We’re here to help. Scott’s got a lumber yard, we’re all hard workers, and we know how to use a hammer.”

“Isn’t it about time that you let somebody do something nice for you?” Mary Lee smiled, and Dean looked around once more, seeing all the flushed but happy faces, used to the cold.

“Yeah, okay, this is something nice, but you can’t help me rebuild my whole house.” Dean said, shaking his head, stepping back almost as if he were trying to run away from the attention. “It’s too much. It’s a _three-story house._ ”

“We know what the Wiggins house looked like.” Another man from the crowd stepped forward. “And whatever modifications you made, we’ll figure it out.”

“You saved the world.” A man behind him said. “You and your husband. A house is a small favor compared to that.”

Dean turned on the spot, taking in each face that stood around him, and he caught sight of Simon, who now had a couple other children standing next to him. Despite Simon’s handicap, they were all laughing around Colonel, and Simon was gesturing quickly to make himself understood.

He cleared his throat, running a hand over his face, and shifted his feet as he looked back to Match.

“I…” Dean took a deep breath. “...thank you.”

Mary herded the children towards the inn, including Simon. “We’ll let them stay here and play why you boys get to work.”

Simon ran to hug Dean, and Dean knelt down, holding him tightly.

_Be safe, kiddo._

_Okay, Daddy._

Dean let Simon run after the other children, then turned to the rumble of trucks behind him. Match gestured him over to a beat-up Ford that might have once been red, its paint salt-n-peppered with steel like the hair of a man who’d seen too much. Dean swung up into the cab, pulling the door shut after him.

“Ready?” Match smiled.

Dean looked over at him, matching his smile. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

 

Two hours into clean up, and one of Scott’s buddies showed up with a high-riser, and then a large dumpster for all the broken wood and glass. A little more than halfway through the day, they had the field cleared, and Theodore “Trick” Watson, a local contractor, was walking the perimeter of the foundation, seeing what was salvageable. Dean helped unload wood and they set it in the mostly intact garage so it would stay dry. Match had found the old schematics of the Wiggins Farm, and on the new work table in the garage, Dean took a black marker, showing the changes they had made when they restored the farmhouse.

It was hard to work because, every moment, Dean could close his eyes and see the first time they’d walked into the house. He remembered the first time Castiel had walked into the kitchen, remembered Castiel decorating Simon’s nursery with such love, such care. 

“Trick’s gonna call one of his friends, an interior designer…”

“No.” Dean said, looking up the moment Match spoke, and he shook his head when Match gave him a look. “No, Cas decorated the house last time. I want him to do it. When he gets back.”

“You don’t want her help at all?”

“No.” Dean repeated, taking a deep breath, trying to return to the immediate task at hand. “I remember Cas liked stainless steel appliances. He loved cooking. I...I can’t remember all the changes he made.”

Match took a step forward. “Let her help. She can take what you remember, and make it just like you want. Imagine how Cas will feel when he comes back to a real gourmet kitchen.”

Dean closed his eyes, his head drooping between his shoulders. “Match...I can’t let you guys do all this…”

“It ain’t money comin’ out o’our pockets,” Match grinned. “Just sweat. Hell, Scott’s gonna write all the supplies off as a charitable donation. So you’re helping us. Just like always.”

 

Two days later and the framing was going up. Dean couldn’t believe how fast they were moving, but the townsfolk of Redemption, South Dakota were a hardy bunch. More often than not, they would be at the site before he was, but he was the one who worked through lunch and found excuses not to stop when the sun started setting. He needed this, more than he could say. He needed his life back.

It was a bright Saturday morning, and Dean was working on what would soon become the front porch when the sound of crunching tires alerted him to someone coming down the long drive. His wings flicked, and he frowned at the curl of Grace glowing softly just beyond the trees. It came towards the house, and shortly a large black SUV rumbled up the drive way, parking behind one of the pickups. The windows were dark, and Dean scowled, setting down his hammer and grabbing his shirt from where it lay slung over the makeshift rails. Toolbelt slung across his hips and wood chips in his hair, he wasn’t even sure he’d care if the President himself was in that SUV.

Instead, the person who got out of the backseat was a tall woman in a yellow sundress, the cut dipping low and the halter ties leaving her back bare down to the uppermost curve of her backside. She wore white sandal wedges, legs long and elegant as she moved. Dark brown curls framed her face, though most of her hair was tucked up into a simple clip.

Dean moved down the steps to meet her, the other workers having stopped to see what was going on. Despite her sudden arrival, Dean couldn’t help but feel that he had seen her somewhere before.

“Dean Winchester.” She was all smiles. “I’m Agent Lucy Ferrell of the DSI, and I’d…”

She didn’t get to finish her sentence, as Dean had reared back an arm, hitting her across the jaw without a second’s hesitation. She stumbled back, a hand rising to her face, and she looked at him in surprise.

“Really?” she exclaimed, and Dean just casually lifted a hammer from his belt and let the light flow along his wings for a moment where the angel could see, but not so much to frighten the townspeople on site.

“Want to try that again, dickbag?” Dean growled, gripping the hammer loosely, but firmly.

She stopped, looking up at his wings, then back down to meet his gaze. “So you can see me. I wondered how good your eyesight was since you’ve been apart.”

“I could never forget a face as ugly as yours, Lucifer.”

Lucifer smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “And they say Sam is the smart one. You’re a horse of a different color, Dean.”

“What do you want?” Dean took a step forward, his jaw clenched. “Hurry up, before I get the mind to finish what Cas should’ve done the moment you crawled out of that hole.”

“Hey.” Lucifer snapped. “I have gone straight, as you can see. I did what you said, I found a new vessel. Adam’s back where he should be. I even brought his mom back. I’m _helping._ ”

“How fast are you burning through vessels now?” Dean hissed. “What’s this one? Your fourth?”

She took a deep breath. “Castiel sent me to talk to you.” 

That got Dean’s attention, his back straightening and his eyes widened even as his grip on the hammer threatened to fail. He snatched it back up, however, settling back into his glare.

“Why would he send you? I _hate_ you.”

“Because it’s my job.” Lucifer sighed. “This is what I’m doing now. Part of my penance is making sure that humanity is equipped to take care of itself against all evils. That’s why the President and Castiel have created DSI, and it’s my task to staff it.”

“‘DSI?’”

“The Department of Supernatural Investigation.” Lucifer explained, going back to the vehicle to pull out a simple black file. She handed it to him, and he flipped it open to see a number of papers, all full of different names and their contact information, potential status, and area of expertise. “Hunters, paranormal investigators, all of it...anyone who’s ever had a hand in anything unnatural, we’re extending a hand to them. Other countries are doing this too. We’re working on a global network of hunters.”

“What does this have to do with me?”

“Castiel wants you to run it.”

Dean laughed outright, shoving the folder back at Lucifer. “To Hell with you both.”

“Dean, listen!” Lucifer cried out, going after him when he started to walk away. The clack of her heels on the new wood porch reminded him of gunshots. “You’re the only person who can do this! You’re the only person who’s been and seen it all. You’re the only person with the understanding and…”

“I’m retired!” Dean shouted, turning back on the angel. “You took everything from me! What more do you want!?”

“It pays six figures.” Lucifer breathed. “Health insurance, dental...do you think you can live off the grid forever? What about Simon? You want him to go to school, get a good education? Even for normal children, that can be hard. He’s deaf. You’ll need tuition, books, tutors...you don’t even have a job right now. Gabriel’s been sending you money.”

“I’ll get a job.” Dean muttered. “I just have to finish the house.”

“Dean...just consider it. Please. No one else can do what you do.”

She held the black folder out to him, and Dean frowned at it. He wasn’t sure why, but he reached out and snatched it from her fingers. Lucifer took a step back, knowing she wouldn’t get anything else out of him.

“You know how to reach me if you change your mind.”

Dean closed his eyes. “How…”

“He’s fine.” Lucifer said softly. “Working hard, just like you.”

Dean nodded, clenching his jaw and swallowing hard. He shooed the archangel away with the black file. “Go on, before I sic Colonel after you.”

 

It was Simon’s fifth birthday, and Mary Lee had planned a little party for him. All the other children of the town were there in the banquet hall of the Inn, and Mary Lee had decorated with balloons and streamers of blues and greens. Colonel had a bow tied around his neck, and Simon sat on the floor amidst the other children, his arms around Colonel’s neck.

As he watched, Dean noticed the other children motioning to Simon, touching his hand to get his attention, gesturing to get their message across. It amazed him how easily children could see past borders, past race, past disabilities...children had to be taught to hate. And now, in this new world? Would species become the new race? Where blacks and gays had once fought for their rights, would the ‘monsters’ be the next equal rights movement? He couldn’t help but smile at the idea. If anyone could do it, Castiel could.

Simon beamed with joy as he opened his presents, raising them above his head to show them off: a remote control helicopter, a baseball, and a copy of _The Hobbit._ A little advanced for his age, but Simon had shown quite the affinity for reading. Dean's own contribution had been an art kit he'd found at the back of the local market. Just some simple pencils and paints, but Simon ran through the crowd to hug him tightly.

"Tank 'oo Da." Dean fell to one knee, hugging him, wrapping his wings around him as well as if on instinct. He just wanted to cradle his son in his arms forever, but he couldn't. He had to let him grow up.

"Hey, Dean!"

Dean straightened up at the sound of Match's voice, and he turned to see him leading two people into the room.

"Red picked them up on the way into town, said they're friends of yours..."

"Hey sugarbee!"

Simon squealed and ran forward, jumping up into Gabriel's arms, the archangel lifting him onto his shoulder and spinning around as Dean took a hesitant step forward.

"Sam..." he breathed, and Sam set down his bag to open his arms. Dean hurried forward, clasping Sam in his usual gripping hug that he saved just for his little brother, and Sam grunted, laughing weakly.

"Dean...you're a lot stronger than you used to be..."

Dean pulled back, smiling sheepishly and clapping him on the shoulder. "Well, you know, lifting weights and all that..."

"Marrying angels and all that."

"Yeah, whatever." Dean grinned. "What are you guys doing here?"

"Did you think we were going to miss our favorite nephew's birthday?" Gabriel beamed. "What kind of uncles do you take us for?"

"Crazy ones." Dean felt lighter than he had in months, even with Castiel's absence looming over him. "Where's Crowley?"

"Busy downstairs." Sam filled in. "But he sends his love, and a present of course."

Gabriel waved a chair over to him so he could sit down with Simon in his lap. The children and parents moved to circle around them. "This is from your uncle and me, Simon."

Sam knelt down and offered a small box to Simon, and when he opened it, there was a small purple crystal. Dean frowned, looking up to Gabriel and then to Sam. Why would they give Simon something magical?

"This is a customary gift to a fledgling angel when they reach your age." Gabriel was explaining. "It's taken from the Fountain in Heaven, and I know it just looks like a rock, but it's _alive_ inside. It's going to grow, and change. It can be whatever you want it to be, but you have to believe in it and take care of it. Okay?"

Simon nodded, cradling the little crystal to his chest. He held it tightly as Sam handed him the next gift, this one wrapped in dark paper. Simon tore it open, revealing a thick, ancient book. Scrawled in faded gold lettering over the front was written _A Beginner's Guide to Understanding Everything._

Gabriel laughed when he saw it, shaking his head. "I thought I lost that years ago."

"What is it?" Dean asked, and Gabriel lifted his head up, grinning.

"Mal and I wrote it a long time ago, unraveling philosophy and the pros and cons of free thinking."

"I think that might be a bit much for Simon. He's only 5."

"He doesn't think so." Sam smiled as they watched Simon already beginning to leaf through it.

"One more." Sam said, gently taking the book from him and setting it down. "This one's from your Papa."

Both Simon and Dean looked up in surprise as Sam handed Simon a silk-embroidered box, and Simon carefully opened it, lifting out a large crystal ball. At first, Dean thought it was a snow globe, and then he realized that instead of snow falling, they were flower petals. Wind blew silver grass, and crystalline waters flowed over the plains. In the center was an ancient, twisted willow tree, branches brushed the water as petals fell. There was a family sitting under the tree, barely visible, but after a minute, Dean realized...it was them. The three of them, in Heaven together.

Simon ran his fingers over the smooth crystal, looking down at the family,  smiling though his eyes glistened.

"Pa." He whispered, slowly placing the crystal back into the box.

"Who wants cake?" Mary Lee quickly got the attention of the children, and Dean picked up the presents, organizing them to one side. Gabriel joined the children, pulling off little magic tricks with angelic flourish to keep them entertained, but Sam followed Dean, sitting down at one of the tables. Dean sat down with him after a minute.

"You saw Cas."

"A few weeks ago." Sam murmured, watching Gabriel with the children. "He came by to ask a favor."

"What kind of favor?"

"Oh, nothing real big." Sam shrugged, the scrunch of his shoulders a tell-tale sign that he didn’t really want to say.. "Gabe says you're rebuilding the old house?"

Dean nodded, letting Sam pass up the question, though he filed it away for later thought. "It's the only thing that feels right after everything that happened. I mean, the Men of Letters bunker is great and all, but it's not home."

Sam nodded, lifting a hand to his mouth as he shifted to face his brother. "I know what you mean. Finding a place you can feel at peace, having the people you love nearby..."

Frowning, Dean looked up at his brother. "Sam..."

"You just up and leave, take Simon, disappear, and I don't hear from you aside from the occasional 'Hi Sam, we're at this motel, bye.'"

"I was in a bad place."

"That's what makes it worse!" Sam huffed. "I was trying to be there for you. We all were."

"None of you know what I'm going through!" Dean hissed, clenching his jaw as he struggled not to alert the children to their argument. "You don't know what it's like to have someone that close, to open up to them, to know them so well you can't remember what it feels like to have your mind to yourself, and then have them ripped away. Every day I hurt because Cas isn't here. I got this close…” He held his hand up, pinching his forefinger and thumb together. “...to chugging a bottle of whiskey. I'm dying for a drink every minute of every hour. The only thing that keeps me sane is Simon and trying to rebuild the house. I have to stay busy. I can't think....I can't think about everything else, about everyone else, about the whole freaking’ world. I'm just trying to stay sane."

"You don't have to do it alone, Dean." Sam sat forward, the brokenness of his voice that of one who knew exactly how Dean felt.. "And I do understand. I almost lost Gabriel. Not being able to sense him...it's the worst feeling I've ever felt, and I'm including my time in the Cage there."

“Sam…” Dean growled.

“ _No,_ Dean. Listen. The world is changing, and this time it isn’t for the worse! You need to see, you need to get out there and…”

“No.” Dean repeated, feeling as if he were bolted to the seat beneath him. “I’m staying right where I am, with the last piece of home that I have.”

Sam looked at him as he had so many times when he knew that Dean was making the wrong decision, being stubborn, and he wished he could just shove him in the car and drive away.

“Okay Dean. It’s your choice.”

 

The party seemed to wind down from there, or maybe it simply did for Dean. He drank punch when he’d die for a beer, and listening to children’s laughter when all he wanted was quiet. Gabriel was his usual grating self, and Sam was just...Sam. Going back and forth between playing with Colonel and Simon and sometimes both together. Dean sat there, staring at the crystal that Castiel had sent to their son. The three of them together in Heaven...oh, what a pleasant dream. So far away. So utterly beyond reach.

He wasn’t going to cry on his son’s birthday, but the ache in his chest was burning as if someone had poured acid onto his heart and sat back to watch it burn. He could recognize the feeling after all.

The children, one by one, fell to sugar crashes and simple exhaustion, and parents came to take them home. Dean himself hoisted Simon into his arms, carrying him up the stairs and tucking him in before coming back down to sit on the open back porch. He could hear Sam and Gabriel talking on the second floor, whispering, but he could still hear them as loud as day. Talking about him, and how the choices he made affect others. He grit his teeth. Why was it his responsibility to save the world?

“Hello Dean.”

Dean jumped to his feet and spun at the sound, his heart jumping into the throat. The voice was one he recognized, but most definitely not Castiel’s. Sitting in the rocking chair next to him was nothing other than Death himself. Dean glanced around, but saw no one else outside on this moonless night, so he shakily sat back down.

“H-Hey…”

“Interesting.” Death lifted his head, and Dean trembled under the weight of his gaze. “All that you have faced, and yet I am the one before whom you tremble.”

“I’d call it smart.” Dean said, his voice as shaky as his body.

“Sit. Please.”

Dean shifted forward. “We have some leftover birthday cake in the fridge...or do you want a beer?”

“I just ate, but thank you.”

Dean saw a slight upturn of Death’s lips however, and relaxed a little bit.

“I have always had a bit of a soft spot for you, Dean. Few people understand the gravity of what they’re doing when they sell their soul, but you did, and you did it anyway.”

“...that was a long time ago.”

“And then Castiel pulled you from the chains of Hell. One little angel, defying all odds to break you free. That was interesting as well. I remember when Castiel was just an infant, when the one you call God was shaping him from star dust. Destined to be with you, a human whose ancestors had not yet even formed chromosomes in primordial ooze.”

Dean swallowed hard, his throat feeling thick. He couldn’t help but tuck his wings down as if trying to hide them.

“It takes a great deal to upset me, Dean.” Death’s voice was somewhere between a murmur and a purr, soft and dangerous and firm like the whisper of wind through sharp daggers of stone. “Of course, when we met, it was an angel throwing a temper tantrum because daddy brought home a new toy. But I’ve always held a great deal of frustration for suicides."

Dean dropped his head as Death began to slowly draw a sideways figure-eight on the table with his fingertip.

“Do you know how much planning and coordination it takes to keep the life cycles of every human properly balanced?”

His voice was small. “No…”

“And the war between Heaven and Hell took a great deal of my Reapers with it, leaving me even more constrained. And then come those who attempt or succeed in taking their own lives. Of course, they don’t understand the _frustration_ of this. Finding a Reaper who has the time to reach them, making sure they don’t wander off, rewriting _every other soul_ that they were destined to affect.”

Death sat forward, forming a triangle with his fingertips, looking at Dean over them.

“Do you know why I’m telling you this?”

Dean nodded, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands.

“The bridge.”

Death took a deep breath and sighed, a heavy sound that Dean had never heard him make before.

“Dean, I am old. I have seen civilizations rise and fall, and souls like yours...they are rare to come by. Entire civilizations have disintegrated without a single person who shines like you. Your untimely death would be devastating, not only to this world, but to many.”

Dean blinked, then shook his head. “I...I can’t matter that much.”

“Do you think you are the mate of an angel for nothing? And the mate of such an important angel? All that has happened has not been an accident, from the Grace that tore your soul apart and reknit it, to the stress of this moment, living without your mate.”

Running his hands over his face, Dean fought the urge to yell...to scream.

“I don’t need to hear this, okay!?” Dean cried out. “I don’t want to hear how important my life is, I don’t want to hear how many people I affect! I just want to go back to the way things were before all this happened! I just want my son, and my husband, and my life! I want my _family._ ”

Death sat back, smiling slowly. “So take it.”

Dean looked up at him, lowering his hands as his eyes widened. “...what?”

Death sat forward. “The world is not your responsibility. For years, you have said this, and yet when the world needs you,  you come forth. You always come forth.”

“Because nobody else will!”

Death smiled. “No...no one else would. There is only you, you and your brother. Fellow hunters blame you for your mistakes, but their mistake is not even trying. They handle what they can, never face what they might not be able to. You and Sam throw yourselves head first, whether you know what you’re doing or not, because if you don’t, nobody else will. You want your family, when all along, you have been fighting for it. Earth is your family, Dean. It always has been. What I mean to stress to you is...you do not have to right the world on your own. Emperors have advisors, the President has his Council, a CEO has their board of directors...Earthking you may be, but you are not alone. So stop acting like it.”

“But Cas…”

“Castiel has not forgotten you. As your friend stated, when his Grace renewed itself, he reverted back to a logical state of mind. He knows who you are, and that he loves you, but he doesn’t understand the emotion. Instead of staying with you and facing this emotion, his logical mind told him that there were greater problems that needed to be handle, obstacles that he _could_ face, such as the resurrection of Heaven. He is afraid of this swirl of emotions within him, and every day he struggles to bear the pain of being so far from you. Just as you have longed for him, he longs for you.”

“I am not blaming you.” Death continued. “I think you’re both idiots, but Castiel is infinitely more stubborn than you are. I’m telling you that this time, you must be the one who gives in.”

Dean took a slow deep breath, covering his face in his hands. Death stood, brushing off his coat, and he laid a hand on Dean’s head.

“Only when the Great Seraph and the Last Nephilim stand as one can there be peace.”

Dean blinked, looking up. “But I thought…”

Death looked down at him, laying a warm hand on his cheek. “You wayward children always think so little of yourselves. Perhaps that is a mark of a hero...no, Dean, it has always been you. You who chose to fight when no one else would. You to whom the entire world mattered, from the innocent to the damned. You, father to one and father to all.”

“...two.” Dean smiled, looking up at him. “Father to two.”

Death nodded, and turned to the fridge, opening it and cutting himself a piece of birthday cake. “I think I’ll take this.”

“Help yourself.” Dean chuckled.

“By the way,” Death said, taking a spoon as well. “Bobby Singer is not dead.”

“...what?” Dean sat up, jumping to his feet a second later. “ _What!?_ ”

“You have missed much this past year, Dean.” Death licked the edge of his spoon. “This is very good cake.”

“Mary Lee is a great cook.” Dean murmured. “What are you talking about? Where’s Bobby?”

“With Crowley, of course. Where else?”

“He was in Purgatory.”

“And now he’s not. Are you ready to catch up with the times?”

Dean nodded, swallowing hard. “Where do I go from here?”

“Stop listening to your heart. Your heart is an idiot. Your heart has held you here for over a year now, waiting for Castiel to love you enough that he will return. However, your head knows exactly what it’s like when everything crashes on you at once, and how easily love can be pushed aside for duty. To forbid yourself from what you want for the betterment of others.”

Death smiled, meeting Dean’s gaze with a steady eye. “Go.”

Dean turned, the door slamming behind him as he ran across the hotel, banging on Sam’s door. Seconds after his knock, Sam pulled it open, eyes wide and he looked over his brother, searching for what was wrong.

“I need you to watch Simon.”

“...okay…?”

Sam followed Dean with his head as Dean pushed past him, walking over to Gabriel who was just standing up from the suite’s small table. When Dean stood before the archangel, if he hadn’t already been standing, Dean probably would’ve hauled him to his feet.

“How do I get to Heaven?”

“Well, if you live a good…”

“Gabriel…” Dean snarled, and Gabriel backed up, holding his hands up in surrender.

“Follow me.”

Gabriel stretched his wings, his mahogany wings dwarfing Dean’s own as their speed dissolved the world around him, presenting itself only as tiny streams of light. The light grew brighter and brighter, and then found himself standing in the same hallway where he and Gadreel had faced down Samael. It was different, however, warmer. He folded his wings back, and a couple of other angels passed them, looking curiously at Dean before moving on.

“Feels strange to be here and…”

“...not be attacked?” Gabriel smiled. “Come on, let’s find Cas.”

Barely a few steps later and it wasn’t Gabriel who was leading anymore. Dean surged forward, feeling that 747 revving its engines, the chain hooked just behind his sternum and hauling him towards his goal, towards his mate. It led him down hallway after hallway, until Gabriel himself was hurrying to catch up.

“Geez, Dean, wait up!”

But there was no stopping him now.

The knob on the door burned like fire in his eyes and he pushed it open, blazing his way into the room without a second’s thought about what or who he might be interrupting.

Castiel stood at the far end of the room, flanked by no fewer than four angels, all seeming to be assisting him with various decisions and orders for the Balancing of the Three Seams. However, the moment he entered, Castiel only had eyes for him, lips slightly parted as their gaze met. Silence sauntered daintily into the room, taking her time, and the other angels took a step back. Dean cleared his throat, remembering his status among the angels.

“I need to speak with Castiel alone now.”

They glanced at Castiel, who still hadn’t moved, before nodding and flowing around him on their way out. The door clicked shut, and they stood, staring at each other as they had so many years ago, when all they knew about each other was that they had been bound together by forces beyond their control. And even then, the knowledge had only been subconscious.

A thousand words ran through his mind with millions of combinations that might somehow express how he felt in that moment, and yet none of them came even close to adequate. A thousand actions might come close, but even then...what could he do that closed the gap that had grown between them?

Castiel hadn’t moved since he walked through the door, and Dean could feel their bond screaming as it tried to bring them together as they should be. So Dean let it lead him, and he let go.

Crossing the room felt like a dream, like he was standing to one side and watching himself take each step, and then he was pulling Castiel against him, slotting their mouths together. A soft cry broke from Castiel like wind as it filled the sails of a desperate ship lost at sea. Though his hands remained at his side, his body molded against Dean’s as Dean lifted one arm to cement itself behind his back, just brushing the base of his wings, and the other rose to cradle his head.

Dean broke away, looking back at his mate, whose eyes were still closed, lashes fluttering until they opened, guiding his head up and their eyes met.

“Cas…” Dean murmured, his breath ghosting over Castiel’s lips.

“Dean.” Castiel asserted, and just like that, a sledgehammer hit the wall as Castiel wrapped both arms around his shoulders, crushing their lips together, wings rising to envelope them both. Dean raised his to meet the massive ebony wings, shifting one hand under Castiel’s hips and in a smooth motion long perfected, Castiel lifted to wrap his legs around Dean’s waist, trusting him. His kiss was full of longing and desperation, and Dean drank it in, returning all the love and want that he had long since thought gone.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” Castiel was gasping as he threaded fingers into Dean’s hair. “I’ve been so afraid…”

“It’s okay…”

“I could see our memories, our life, our son, everything...but it seemed like someone else’s life. I saw you as my mate, but I...I love you, I love you in a way I can’t explain, it’s so completely illogical that…”

“It’s okay.” Dean kissed him to stem the flow, and Castiel shivered against him. “It’s okay. Emotions are a hard thing to get used to, but I’ll help you. I’ll help you. We did it once, we can do it again.”

“I was so afraid…” Castiel breathed, lowering his feet to the floor though he clung to Dean with wings and Grace. “I was afraid that if I stayed away too long, you would leave me. You would find someone else, someone who could love you freely. Part of me hoped you would, so I wouldn’t have to feel this way. This rampant chaos…”

“Cas…” Dean tightened his arms, the same fear flooding him, that Castiel would leave him for someone that made more sense. Someone who hadn’t been a royal jackass to him over the years, and made him wait so long before giving in to their love. “Cas, you gave up Heaven for me. If you want...if you want me to become an angel, a full angel, if that’ll make things easier…”

Castiel stared at him, eyes wide, Grace stuttering, heaving against him. He raised a hand to lay against Dean’s cheek, then he shook his head. “No...no, Dean...I...I didn’t fall in love with an angel. I fell in love with you. I don’t know how, but I fell in love with you.”

Dean laid his hand over Castiel’s, turning his head to kiss his palm. “If you give me a chance, I’ll show you.”

Nodding, Castiel all but fell forward, nudging his head under Dean’s chin, the familiar place he’d come to own in Dean’s arms. Dean closed his eyes, swallowing back the tears over the painful lump in his throat as he held his mate against him.

“Teach me,” Castiel breathed. “Let me learn again.”

Dean tilted Castiel’s chin up, finding his lips again.

“Have faith, mate of mine. Just have faith.”

 

Gabriel had returned to Sam after dropping Dean off, and Sam was sitting in Dean’s hotel room, Simon sleeping in the opposite bed. Gabriel smiled and dropped down on the bed next to Sam, tweaking his side so Sam turned to face him.

“How are they?”

“Good.” Gabriel beamed. “Finally.”

Sam let out a sigh, the strain finally easing out of his shoulders, and he flopped down next to Gabriel. “When they come back down...there’s so much Dean has missed this past year. Bobby, Adam...Luke...everything.”

“We’ll get him caught up.” Gabriel shifted up and kissed Sam, brushing his fingers lightly over his cheek.

“It’s been a crazy year.”

“I never said it wouldn’t take a while.”

 

 

 

 


	16. A Broken Blade

Before the angels mounted their charge, before the ash of the mountain covered the northwest, before the earth itself rumbled in protest, there was a hole. It was a dark hole, cold and lonesome, a rip in space and time itself, and encased within was a cage...the Cage, built to contain a star.

Now there were two stars, raging in the dark constraints, and between lay a fragile comet, frightened and alone.

“Michael…” Lucifer asked, her voice trembling in the endless cavern. “What have you done?”

Adam was curled to one side, knees tucked to his chest and he pressed himself against the wall as if he could disappear into the stone if he only willed it. The two archangels had been circling each other for what felt like ages, though he had no real way of knowing how much time had passed. He tried not to think too much about it.

“Don’t you see?” Michael was beaming, almost giddy with pride. “I did it for you, for us. So you could be free and we could be together again.”

“Michael, you were going to kill me.” Lucifer spoke cautiously, ever turning to present a moving target. But Michael seemed less interested in fighting and more about finally explaining.

“I had to.” Michael breathed. “I had to kill them all...all the archangels. I needed their power.”

“Why?”

“So I could kill God.”

Lucifer froze. “...what?”

“It came to me one day!” Michael laughed, his eyes brightening at the memory, exultation in his voice. “I realized...I realized that when an archangel died, their power was divided among the remaining archangels. Which meant, the more of them I killed, the stronger I would become. And if I killed them all...I could face down Father. Free us all. Free you and me.”

“I wouldn’t be free; I’d be dead.” Lucifer reiterated.

“But death is freedom.” Michael implored, taking a step towards his mate, who immediately stepped back, keeping the distance between them. “I would have followed you, sister, and then we would be together for all eternity, bound together by all that is. We will be together.”

“You’re insane.”

The words were quiet, but they seemed to ring over Michael, drawing his demeanor from pleasantly wondrous to the darkened woe of a shattered mind.

“I am not insane.” Venom laced his voice, even as he faced the one he had tried so hard to save. “I am finally free, as you said. I have made my own decisions. I have rewritten time and space to be here, to reach my goals, and I will free you, sister.”

His silver blade fell to his hand, glimmering as only an archangel’s could, and Lucifer tensed, drawing her own.

Adam covered his head with his arms, sobbing as quietly as he could, screaming when he heard the first strike of celestial intent.

**~**

The earth quaked, and lightning flew from empty skies. Snow fell over the deserts, and drought raged through the river valleys. The world was out of order, falling faster as the Cage at its core began to shake.

**~**

Lucifer narrowly dodged her brother’s blade, striking back as best she could without hurting him. It was nearly impossible to fight for her life without using the same force in kind, without trying to kill in return. Adam cowered away from the battle, and Michael’s eyes were dark, determined.

It happened in a moment, her defense faltering, and Lucifer cried out when Grace bled from her arm, her blade falling to the side, and Michael pinned her beneath him, blade raised.

“I’m trying to help you.” Michael pleaded. “To set you free. When we are together, I will become God and set this world right, and then I will join you forever, sister.”

“Michael...please…” Lucifer whispered, covering the hand with which he held her with both of her own. “We won’t be together; we won’t be anywhere. You’re destroying everything. The Balance…”

“ _FUCK THE BALANCE!_ ”

Adam uncurled himself one limb at a time, looking over at the two.

For the longest time, they were silent, eyes locked. When Michael did not waver, Lucifer swallowed hard, and lowered her head. With a shuddering breath, she looked up to meet his eyes once more, and what she saw there chilled her through to the bone. She lifted her hand, cupping his cheek, and nodded once. “Do what you must, mate of mine.”

Something flickered in Michael’s eyes, but he did not, could not falter now. He tightened his grip on his blade, and Adam saw the flash of silver even in the dim light. Lucifer screamed, and Michael growled as Adam collided hard with his side, shoving him away from Lucifer. Eyes wild, Adam clamped his jaw down on Michael’s neck, determined not to be pulled away without taking a piece of the archangel with him. However, Michael struck the back of his head, and Adam slid down onto the stone as if his entire body had suddenly turned to water.

Getting to his feet, Michael looked back to his sister. The blade had pierced her wing, a devastating wound for any angel, and not the quick death he had wanted for her. He felt the pain radiating from her Grace, washing over him, each wave weaker than the last as her strength drained. Though it should have been obvious from the first moment he saw her, but Michael began to see that there was...there was nothing between them anymore, nothing but an empty chasm, shaped by his own hands. He knelt beside her, tears burning valleys into his cheeks, slowly removing his blade from her wing, and she only whimpered in pain, curling in on herself. His gaze ran over her, confused...alarmed...and he gently reached into the nothingness between them, long void of life, and tugged at the wall that had kept them apart so long.

The rush of Lucifer’s Grace spilled over through their bond for the first time in eons, and Michael breathed a sigh of relief, a smile breaking over his face. Just after the quiet euphoria of feeling his mate again, the waves of agony and loneliness crashed down upon him. He saw himself through her eyes, his decisions...his sins...he had murdered his brothers and sisters...murdered Gabriel’s children...broken the very Axis itself. Some twisted part of him still believed it was right, his efforts justified as they had been so wrongfully separated, but looking down at what he had done to his mate, the agonizing turning finally came to a stop.

A sob broke from his throat, a mournful wail as he lifted Lucifer into his arms, brushing her hair back. Light bled from her broken wings, and he kissed her lips, pulling her to his chest.

“Oh, my beautiful Lucifer…” he whispered. “What have I done?”  

He was too broken to fix. He could not rise from this. His penance would be far too great, and there was no purpose for him now. No longer did he sit at the left hand of God. Now he was nothing but a broken blade. Death would not be enough, but it was all he could give.

His death would drive Lucifer mad. She could not survive without him, and yet did not deserve to live bound to someone such as him. He smiled, pain coloring his face, and he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers as she shuddered in anguish. He pushed his Grace against hers, healing her as best he could, offering her all of himself, every inch. She rose to welcome him, cradling his Grace, and for a moment, they were one spirit.

Michael pulled away, touching Lucifer’s Grace one last time as she began to awaken.

“It is finished now.” Michael breathed, and sliced through their bond.

Lucifer choked when the bond was broken, her wings spasming and she pushed herself up, staring at Michael in horror. Already his Grace was beginning to bleed from the act, and he smiled up at her.

“Be free, mate of mine…” He whispered, and plunged his blade into his own chest.

Lucifer screamed, and the mountain broke.

**~**

In the darkness, only one star burned, the other fading into the Void. Even then, the lonely star threatened to burn out, but the comet whirled around it, ever attentive, drawing it back.

**~**

Lucifer lay on the floor of the Cage, staring up into the empty space above them. She felt Adam’s presence before she saw him, and her gaze flickered over to him. She’d barely moved since Michael’s death, and saw no reason to move now. It could’ve been seconds or centuries since her mate’s death. Time held no sway here.

“So...uh…” Adam licked his lips, brushing his fingers over her hair, tender yet tentative. “Hi.”

Lucifer blinked up at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Hi.”

“I...I figured if we’re going to be stuck here for...a while...we might as well...chat.”

She regarded this for a moment, then chuckled without an ounce of mirth. “I suppose. What would you like to talk about?”

“How...how much of the Sunday school stories are true? I mean...you and Michael...if you guys were, uh, married, then...um…”

Lucifer sat up, slowly stretching her tattered wings as she turned to face him. “Are you asking to hear my side of the story?”

After a moment, Adam nodded, shifting towards her a bit. “I’m asking to hear the truth.”

The tiniest smile fell over her, and she began to talk. She wasn’t entirely sure where the words came from, and they ripped open old wounds. The pain and frustration came whirling back, and Adam listened, barely saying a word, interrupting only to ask a question or two. For the first time in some millions of years, she spoke...and someone truly listened.

“Do you really think humans are that bad?”

Lucifer sighed, leaning back and folding her wings around herself. “...not anymore. If Gabriel was willing to die for them, and Castiel rebelling against Heaven itself for the sake of one...maybe I missed something. It’s my turn to ask a question.”

“Okay, shoot.”

“Tell me why you said ‘yes’ to Michael.”

**~**

They talked. And they talked. They talked about family, about love, about fate, about sports, about...well, everything. Adam drew constellations on the roof of their prison, and Lucifer drew galaxies. Lucifer told stories of the angels and her brothers as fledglings, and Adam told her about his first crush, and his first teeball match.

Lucifer became the first archangel to play baseball.

One night, after Adam fell asleep, Lucifer was wandering around the Cage, and she stopped, looking back at Adam’s sleeping form. She rarely noticed the temperature changes in the Cage, but Adam was shivering. There was no one around to notice, so she laid down next to him and covered him with her wings. She smiled softly as his shivering ceased, and she laid her own head on her arms, resting peacefully for the first time since Michael’s death.

**~**

It was something Lucifer had never thought to do in the Cage, despite all the billions of years she had spent there. While Adam wandered to what they called the South Edge, Lucifer lowered her hand, light sparking there, Grace swirling in her grasp. Of course, being an angel, material possessions didn’t really matter to her. Neither did food, or water, but she could tell that the lack of these things was weighing on Adam. The solitude had defined this as a prison for her, but for Adam, it was different. It was the lack of familiarity, of humanity.

It took just a light swirl of her fingers, and a chair twisted into existence. It was simple, plain, and the Cage pulled at her Grace when she used it. She’d have to get used to the weight. Another swirl and she made a couch, and a TV. She made a table, and blew soft warm air between her hands to create a glowing orb which she hung above the whole arrangement. She flicked the chair over to the table, and made another. Plates, silverware.

Food.

"Is that all for me?”

She shrugged, her wings fluttering nervously around him. “I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I’m pretty sure the human protocol for first dates is dinner.”

“Dinner and a movie,” He smiled, sliding to her side. “Are you saying you want to...date me?”

“Does it need saying?”  

“But I’m human.”

“Yeah…”

“And you’re an angel.”

“Obviously.”

“So...you sure you want to be shacking up with a mud monkey?”

“.....I cooked.”

“Sort of.”

“Shut up.”

**~**

Adam got used to sleeping curled in angel wings, and Lucifer kept a silent watch over her charge, a once bright star gingerly cradling the fading comet to her breast.

Even together, however, the ever present strain of the Cage began to sap their strength, coupled with the maddening void.

Curled around each other, they closed their eyes and slept.

* * *

The screeching of the Leviathan raged around him when they realized that the trail led to his broken body rather than the Gates of Heaven. Bobby had long since given himself up to Death, but for whatever reason, his heart would not stop beating. Was this his fate? To be eaten alive by the very visage of hunger and destruction?

Hands closed around his ankles as the Leviathan above him argued about what they would do with him, and Bobby found himself casting back to those last moments before he’d followed Sam into Purgatory. He was dragged to his knees, and he fought hard to keep the vision of his boys in his mind--Dean, Sam, Cas...Crowley. All those he’d loved and fought for and now those for whom he’d be dying.

Bobby opened his eyes, looking up into the faces of those who would be his end, and flinched back as black blood sprayed over his face. A blade had come from behind, slicing the head off one Leviathan and lodging in the neck of another. The arm it was attached to jerked the blade free and took a second swing to finish the job. The wounds were hissing and smoking, black blood bubbling over skin like acid. Bobby drew up his arms to protect his face, hearing the screeches of the Leviathan and the shouts of familiar voices, including a warm Southern drawl he never thought he’d be happy to hear.

The screeches died off in the distance, the remaining Leviathan fleeing to rejoin the others, and Benny slowly laid back down, pressing a hand to the wound in his stomach. He heard the weight of someone falling to their knees beside him, and he looked up to see Benny’s grizzled face, spattered with black blood.

“Thanks. At least I won’t be digested now.” Bobby said, his voice raspy. It felt like he was physically pulling each word out of his throat, and then it was barely audible on his lips. Still, Benny heard and gave him a wry smile.

“I don’t think I can get you out of here in time,” Benny murmured, taking off his jacket and using it to cushion Bobby’s head.

“S’all right,” Bobby sighed. He wondered where he’d go this time. Heaven was a mess, he was already in Purgatory...where did one go after they’d already died?

“But I can save you.”

That got his attention, and he frowned up at the vampire, his eyes narrowing slightly as he scoffed. “What...miracle...have you...got up your sleeves?”

“Not up my sleeves. In my veins.”

The breath left his body in a rush, and it took him a minute to speak. “You...want to turn me!?”

Benny looked down at him, but there was quietness in his eyes that Bobby had never seen on a ‘monster’ before. More and more, he was beginning to think the line was even more blurred than he thought.

“Dean told me how you ditched your Reaper.” Benny explained. “You won’t be happy resting on your backside in Heaven, if that’s even where you end up. You could end up nowhere. I ain’t saying it’s an easy life, being what I am, but you have family. That makes it easier, and I’m offering for them as much as you.”

Bobby closed his eyes, hardly able to believe he was considering this, but all that came to mind was the knowledge that if he accepted, Crowley would never be alone again. His mortality that had so plagued his lover would be a thing of the past. That in itself was enough.

Benny sensed his acceptance before Bobby even nodded his head, and he lifted his blade to his arm.

* * *

An eternity passed as they slept, but then the Cage shook violently and a piercing light broke through above them.

Lucifer flinched back, and Adam jerked up, grabbing at her. A wind swept through, illuminating the Void, and all the things they’d created to make a home were shredded in the maelstrom.

"The Cage is opening!" She whispered against his ear, the words nearly lost in the tide, and he looked up at her, eyes wide, hands tightening on hers.

"They're going to kill you.”

"I'll run." She whispered. "I'll find a vessel."

"Use me." Adam gasped. "They won't hurt you for fear of hurting me. Please."

The light widened to consume the world they had created, the table where they'd shared their first meal disintegrated. Lucifer looked at him, and knew there was no other choice. She cupped his face in her hands.

"I know I've never said it..."

"You'll never have to."

~

The light faded. There was grass beneath her fingers, and she could feel the energy of angels, smell the taint of Azrael's Staff, and she rose slowly from her knees, blinking as she adjusted to having weight and form once more. She sensed Castiel, and another angel...Samael?...came running up to her, proclaiming her loyalty to Michael. Lucifer felt the dissent running through the Angels, the fear, the confusion, and it centered here with Samael, the last piece of Michael's plot.

So Lucifer put a blade through her Grace.

Her own Grace bowed to Castiel's, the younger angel's Grace flowing vastly over her own torn and haggard waves, and she felt Adam's consciousness brush against her own. She closed her eyes, reaching back to him.

Castiel stepped away, and she straightened up, following behind him. The sight of the once proud archangel so humbled stirred among their brethren, perhaps just as much as Castiel’s words which followed. For the first time in eons, her brothers and sisters reached out to her Grace, and Lucifer tentatively opened to them.

It was like all the music, all the color in the world rushed back in a flash, and Lucifer closed her eyes against the onslaught. Adam’s warmth embraced her as she trembled. She opened herself to her family, showing them all her pain and all her contrition, and they did not turn her away. She showed them Michael’s death, and they showed her sorrow and sympathy. When she begged their forgiveness, they showed her hope.

Word of Castiel and Dean's argument reached her, and she snapped back to the waking world. She saw the couple, saw her baby brother, Gabriel, safe and sound. Her heart swelled, and she silently thanked their Father for watching over him. He was even mated!

She stood to one side as Gabriel and Sam took Dean away, then moved to Castiel's side.

"Captain."

~

Her return to Heaven was not as she had imagined, and her home was a shade of its former glory. Traces of devastation were everywhere, and Castiel led the way through the terraces to the Garden. Her heart sank at the sight of the empty throne, and all the angels had gathered there to watch Castiel ascend the steps. She herself stopped at the bottom, numbering herself among the many who did not know what would come next.

Castiel stopped in front of the throne, one foot resting on the podium, the other on the last step before it. He stood there for a long moment, an eternity in the eyes of those waiting, and slowly he turned to face them. He did not make any movement towards the throne, instead walking down a few steps and stopping again.

“I am not God, nor will I pretend to be.”

The words reverberated through the angels, and Lucifer picked up on a few threads of fear. If not Castiel, then who would lead them?

“I did not say I would abandon you.” Castiel continued, as if he had heard. “I simply said that I will not be your new God. Long we have faced our own existence with the mindset that our only purpose is to follow orders. Once, that might have been true, but times have changed. I am a soldier, just as you are. I have fought, and I have bled, just as you have. Once, I led a garrison of my brothers and sisters into Hell, and I led them back out again. They trusted me as their captain, and if you will give me your faith, I will be yours as well.

“Captain.” Lucifer murmured, and it rippled through the other angels as well, a whisper on their lips. Castiel nodded, grateful in their acceptance.

“There is much to do, and we will start with the simplest. We cannot begin to repair our home when we cannot see the extent of the damage.”

He walked down the steps, sending soldiers to each Gate to secure the perimeter. Others he sent to the wide fields, to the rivers, and to the glowing whirls that contained the glimmering souls of humanity. He sent them to protect, and to sort out what had become of their charges while the war had raged.

Lucifer found herself drifting away from the other angels to a familiar place where silver grass met crystal waters, and she knelt in the nest that she had once shared with her mate.

Lu?

Lucifer smiled and reached out to Adam, curling her Grace against his consciousness.

You okay?

“I’m fine.” She said softly.

It’s okay to miss him. I’m not trying to take him from you.

“I know.” She murmured, and laid down in the last place they had held one another in love and trust.

“Don’t go.” She whispered when she felt Adam receding from her, and he curled against her. She felt the warmth of his soul press against her Grace, and she welcomed it. She held him as long as she dared, then slipped from Heaven back down to Earth, outside the university that Adam had been attending when the ghoul had so untimely ripped him from life.

Those paying attention would remember a flash, and Adam found himself staring at a mirror in a comfortable, if not lavish, apartment. It was a far cry from the dingy dorm room he’d stayed in when he’d been a student, and Adam took a step forward, touching the mirror, then touching his own face.

“Lu, what are you doing?”

I promised… She said quietly, whispering inside his mind.

“You don’t have to.”

You can pick up where you left off.

“What? No!” Adam shouted, spinning in the bathroom, trying to grasp at someone he couldn’t see. “How do I even begin?!”

I’ll be back as soon as I can.

Adam felt his solitude before his eyes told him there was no one there. Hot tears filled his eyes, and he shouted, grabbing the nearest movable object and throwing it into the wall.

“I didn’t survive all this time to be abandoned!” He shouted at no one, clenching his fists, shaking. “I never said I wanted this life back!”

He sank to the floor with the air of one burdened by unseen weights, fighting their pull with every breath, and he curled up, folding his knees to his chest and crying, every breath sucked through clenched teeth. His own humanity crashed down on him as if every beat of his heart sought to erase the past.

Centuries spent surrounded by the presence of angels, but in that moment, he was utterly alone.

* * *

Alone, Castiel stood in the Garden before the Throne of his Father, and he fell to his knees before it, closing his eyes. The ache in his chest, the distance from Dean...Dean. Oh Dean. That man who had mutated out of pure love and trust into a creature not yet defined, and oh how he loved him. He loved him so much that he had rebelled against everything he knew, everything he held to be true, and together they had rewritten the fabric of reality. He knew now, of course, that these actions had been to the betterment of everyone, but it still felt as if he were watching himself plan his own suicide. But he did, he did love Dean, and the proof of their union thrived within him.

He unwove the strands of Grace he’d tightened around her, now that there would be no more wars, she was free to grow as she should. His Grace was full and healthy, more than ready to support her. Here in Heaven, he didn’t need Dean’s Grace to help sustain them both. He lifted his head, turning to lean against the base of the Throne. He should be preparing a nest and resting with his mate, letting their Grace merge into one being over the course of gestation. They should be watching the growth of their infant together, but he had a world...no, he had three worlds to piece back together. Though it seemed the more daunting of the two, he’d much rather face a broken world than try and understand why he had fallen in love with a man as wild and driven as Dean Winchester.

* * *

Sam and Gabriel left Dean passed out in a motel with Garth watching over him, and Gabriel tested his newly healed wingspan to fly them to a location somewhere outside of Lincoln, Kansas. Gabriel couldn’t tell him exactly where they were going, only that he was looking for something that he couldn’t see. Sam could only trust in his mate, and they soon found a simple door with a simple keyhole, but Gabriel assured him it was much, much more inside. Sam was secretly reminded of the Doctor guiding his newest companion to first open the door of the Tardis, and inside, it was more than he could ever dream.

The Men of Letters, a society of scholars dedicated to learning more about the supernatural. One of whom had been their grandfather, Henry Winchester. Gabriel found his name in a book of initiates after Sam got the generator going again. After all this time, it still worked, and he was eager to crack into it. Without anywhere else to live, it seemed natural to set up their new home within it.

Sam had hoped that Dean might liven up surrounded by the new-to-them technology and the wealth of cool stuff that the Men of Letters had collected, but Dean just went to a room, claimed it, and proceeded to spend the next few months hibernating there. He came out every so often to eat and play with Simon, and it drove Sam crazy not being able to do a damn thing to pull his brother out of his depression.

Gabriel had his hands full with his own brothers as well, leaving to go to Heaven as soon as he felt stable enough to leave Sam alone with Dean. Not that Dean was going anywhere. He knew that his priority should be Castiel, but there was one thing he had to take care of before anything else.

When their gaze met for the first time since that fateful night, all the words that needed to be said were heard in the silence. Lucifer opened her arms to her baby brother, and Gabriel flew to her with all the strength he had.

“I’m so sorry.” Lucifer whispered, clinging to him. “I was so blind.”

“It’s okay.” Gabriel returned just as quickly. “It’s over now.”

Gabriel kissed his sister’s face, and she curled her wings around him. “How are things going? Been cleaning up I see.”

Now that he took the time to look around, Heaven was far brighter than it had been the last time he was here. “I don’t...I don’t even remember what happened.”

“We’re still piecing everything together ourselves.” Lucifer laughed, taking his hand and tugging him towards the Garden. “If you can believe it, a militante force of human souls held the South Gate against the Leviathan until Naomi and two more humans managed to penetrate the Archives into the very Veil itself. Naomi used the volatility of their souls to blast Michael’s Seals off.”

“Shouldn’t that have destroyed them?”

Lucifer nodded. “One would think so, but these two souls were so tightly fixed to the Balance that they just dissolved, and Castiel was able to draw them back from the Veil. One was a Prophet, and he’s working with Metatron now deciphering the ancient Words and restoring the True Archives.”

“And the other?”

Lucifer smiled. “The other was Mary Winchester.”

Gabriel shook his head, grinning. “No matter how many times I think humanity has pulled out all its tricks, it comes up with something new. The Winchesters in particular.”

Her heart swelled as her gaze met Gabriel’s, and she tucked a wing under his just as she touched his shoulder.

“I’m so glad that Father brought you back.”

Gabriel nodded, stepping forward to curl against her side. “Are you okay? Is anybody bothering you?”

“No.” Lucifer murmured, her voice barely stirring between them. “But I wish Father were here. If he had the time to Grace me with his touch...”

Gabriel frowned then took a step back, looking at Lucifer, his gaze trying to peer past her Grace, past what she let him see, and he watched as she sighed, her head turned towards the cove she’d once shared with Michael. She lowered her defenses, letting him see the state of her Grace.

“Lucifer...how....”

“It will be the archangel to replace Michael.” Lucifer murmured, as if speaking of it aloud would acknowledge the existence of the fledgling. “Some part of me wonders if Father is still punishing me. Haven’t I suffered enough?”

Gabriel closed his eyes, covering his face with his hands. Why had Father given the fledgling to Lucifer? Any mated couple would have gladly borne the new archangel, but Lucifer? She was completely alone. Even the fledgling would no doubt be tainted by its mother’s reputation.

“Let me…” Gabriel sighed, his wings flexing briefly in agitation. “Just hang on.”

Lucifer raised an eyebrow as her brother flew to Earth, but quickly dismissed him from her thoughts with a broad sweep of her wings. She had much pressing matters to which she should attend, especially now that Castiel had turned his gaze from Heaven to Earth.

* * *

“You want to what?”

“It makes sense,” Gabriel was explaining, pacing back and forth in front of his mate, who sat on the couch with Simon in his lap. “I’m an archangel, we’re mated, so…”

“So you want us to adopt Lucifer’s unborn fledgling? This sounds like exactly the thing that caused this mess to begin with.”

Gabriel huffed, folding his arms over his chest, and Sam rolled his eyes. “Weren’t we going to get dogs before we tried raising kids?”

“I raised Cas, didn’t I? And Malachi!”

Sam laughed, shaking his head. “No comment.”

“Hey!” Gabriel plopped into his lap, eyes wide. “Sam...this is the first time in a long time I’ve felt like I can handle having another child.”

“Maybe we should have one of our own. One where there isn’t so much pressure.”

“We can’t do like Dean and Cas did.” Gabriel sighed. “You don’t have Grace. But Lucifer’s child is pure Grace. It’s rare, but not unheard of for angels incapable of carrying their fledgling to transfer it to another angel. I can do it.”

Sam wrapped his arms around Gabriel’s waist, leaning back and sighing. “Have you talked to Lucifer about this?”

“Not yet. I wanted you to be on board first. She’s not happy about the kid though. I know she’d be cool with this.”

“I have time to think about it, don’t I?”

“Yeah, but…”

Sam leaned up and kissed him. “Let me talk to Lucifer. He...She and I still have some knots to work out, and if we’re going to be raising her kid, I want them ironed flat.”

The conversation came to a quick end when there was a knocking upstairs. Sam frowned and followed Gabriel to the bunker door. Gabriel’s step quickened when he neared, and Sam had to stretch his legs to keep up. “Who is it?”

Gabriel pulled the door open without hesitation, and there was a grungy blond teen on the doorstep, dressed in clothes that looked as if they had been worn through rain and snow alike, dried, and worn again. Behind the unshaven face and layers of dirt, it took Sam a few seconds to recognize Adam.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In remembrance of plums.
> 
> One more, hopefully short, chapter to go.


	17. Good Omens

_Gabriel pulled the door open without hesitation, and there was a grungy blond teen on the doorstep, dressed in clothes that looked as if they had been worn through rain and snow alike, dried, and worn again. Behind the unshaven face and layers of dirt, it took Sam a few second to recognize Adam._

 

Even after he realized who stood under the filth, Sam was still frozen to the floor. He remembered seeing Lucifer wearing Adam’s body at the Battle of Three Worlds, but he hadn’t even thought about what might’ve happened to Adam after Lucifer returned to Heaven. The guilt hit was a blindside sack to his gut. He couldn't meet his eyes, and he couldn't look away. In the end, it was Gabriel who stepped forward and took the youngest Winchester’s hand, drawing him into the bunker.

“Sam, go grab some towels.” Gabriel brushed Adam’s overgrown bangs back from his face, taking in the unfocused gaze and pale skin beneath the dirt. “Let’s get you into a hot shower and warmed up, sound good?”

Adam nodded, his head jerking with each inch of the motion, and he leaned heavily on Gabriel as they walked to the bathroom. Sam came after them with a handful of towels, and between the two of them, they got Adam undressed and in the shower.

“I’ll whip something up to eat.” Sam murmured just outside the door of the bathroom. “It’s time for Simon’s dinner anyway.”

Gabriel nodded. “I’ve got this. No worries.”

Sam pecked his lips. “We’ll finish that other conversation later, promise.”

 

The hot water poured down his back, and Adam took deep breaths of the steam, trying to warm the empty, cold ache inside him. He’d tried being angry, tried holding a grudge, refusing to try and contact Lucifer. She had her family now, what would she possibly want with him? In the Cage, they’d only had each other. He’d been a fool to think she’d still want him now that they were free.

Why did he still want her anyway? He could go back to his normal life. Wasn’t that what he’d wanted from the day the ghouls had torn him and his mother apart? Lucifer said everyone would remember him as if no time had passed, did that mean he could back to his girlfriend and his friends and his job and his classes?

All these questions had run through his head on those first few nights in his dorm room, when he’d sobbed himself to sleep and didn’t move. Slowly, human bodily functions began to return as if he were waking from a coma, and he dragged himself down to the cafeteria to get something to eat. His meal card had simply appeared in his pocket, and he’d barely sat down before a beautiful girl sat down next to him and began to talk to him, to ask how he had been, how his vacation (vacation?) was, and as he sat there and stared at her, he realized he had no idea who she was. After a minute or two of his blank staring, she asked him what was wrong. The look in her eyes was so genuine, so caring. She reached out and touched his hand, the first human contact he’d had in...who knows how long.

He wanted Lucifer.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered, standing.

“Adam?” She’d called, standing as well. “Adam, talk to me.”

“I’m so sorry.” Hot tears spilled onto his cheeks as he fled for the doors, his throat closing up. He could hear her calling after him, and he began to run. How he didn’t run into anyone, he didn’t know, because he couldn’t see. He ran until he couldn’t breathe, the stitch in his side splitting him open, a cold wind cutting through his clothes, but even that was warm compared to the ache inside him where an angel had once resided.

For everyone else, no time had passed. For him...everything was different.

“Why not me!?” He shouted at the sky, unaware that cement had changed to asphalt beneath his feet. “You could’ve made me forget too! If you gave a damn…”

He never got to finish that sentence, the hood of the Mustang sweeping his legs underneath him and his head crashed backwards through the windshield.

They called it a miracle when he woke up in the hospital, only bruises and scrapes to show. The woman who’d been driving was hysterical, holding his hand and praising God that he was okay.

“God had nothing to do with it.” He snapped at her.

He ripped the tubes out of his arm and ran. Three orderlies tackled him, and he fought as he had never fought before. They put him under a 72-hour psychiatric evaluation. The psychiatrist that came to interview him after the first 12 hours of sedation, he told them everything. He told them about the ghouls, he told them about his brothers, about Michael and Lucifer, about the Cage, about falling in love…

“I love her.” Adam whispered, the first time he’d said it aloud.

“And this...is what you believe happened to you?”

Adam’s attention snapped back to the woman evaluating him, and he stared at her, hands clenched in his lap.

“Of course not. I’m fucking with you. I got hit by a fucking car and now you won’t let me leave.”

“You attacked three orderlies.”

“Reaction to the morphine.” Adam said blindly. “You know as well as I do it can cause adrenaline surges as the corticosteroids start flooding the system.”

She looked at him for a moment before making an note on his chart. “Do you have anyone who can come pick you up, Mr. Milligan?”

“No.”

The next day, a pretty brunette in a navy suit arrived with a court order to release him.

“You have friends in high places.” The clerk said to him as he walked out in the new clothes the woman had brought for him.

“Wrong hemisphere.” he growled, following the woman out to the car.

The moment they were in the car and on the highway, Adam turned to look at her, unperturbed by the halo glowing around her. The changes to him didn't even seem to register, as if they were welcome symptoms of this new disease. “Take me to Lucifer.”

“I can’t do that, Adam.” She didn’t even turn to look at him. “My orders are to take you home.”

“Fuck your orders!” Adam shouted and the angel flinched. He wondered if she was young or new to working with humanity. “What home do you think I have?! My mother is dead! I have _nothing_ in common with those people! I _want_ Lucifer!”

Her body didn’t move, but he watched her aura swell and settle again as if she were taking a deep breath to calm herself.

“I can’t take you to Lucifer.” She repeated. “I can take you anywhere on Earth.”

“There’s nowhere on Earth I want to go.”

“Then I will stay with you until you have a place.”

He glared over at her, but he knew well the stubbornness of angels.

“What’s your name?”

“I am called Hael.”

“Take me to the bottom of the ocean.”

“...do you want to die, Adam?”

“No, you’re a fucking angel, so take me to the bottom of the fucking ocean. You said anywhere on Earth, right? I want to go for a Sunday drive on the bottom of the fucking ocean.”

 

She hadn’t deserved his callous, and he grew bored of being angry, like picking at a scab to watch it bleed. He started asking her to take him places he’d always wanted to see. He went to the Colosseum, the Parthenon, the Eiffel Tower, and he sat on the top of Mount Everest and ate a cheeseburger. Hael stayed with him through it all, so he wondered if anyone was looking for her.

It wasn’t unpleasant. There were time it was even fun. All the wondrous things he saw, from the vast ocean depths to the swirling auroras, nothing warmed the ache inside him. He was changed somehow, irreversibly so. Unmade, and remade again. He didn't even know how old he was.

“She couldn’t have made you forget.” Hael whispered one day. “The imprint of the Cage is not something that could be washed away. You would always know there was something you couldn’t remember, just out of your reach.”

“Then why didn’t she stay?” He asked the darkness.

“I think she wanted to give you a chance to recover the life you had, if you wanted it.”

He took a deep breath of Scandinavian air, and let his head fall back, eyes closed, heart open.

“I’ve taken up too much of your time, Hael,” His words were those of resignation, but something else too. Something that had not been there for a long time, and Hael perked up, wings twitching. “I don’t have a home, but I’m going to find one. I need you to let me find it on my own. Just...take me back to the States, and then I want you to go back to your home.”

“But…”

“Please.”

It took a minute for her to come around under his steady gaze, but she crossed the few feet between them and wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“Good luck.” She whispered, and let him go.

She dropped him off in a rural community in southern Washington, and Adam found his wallet was now full of large bills. He bought a backpack at the nearest outdoors store, and filled it with freeze-dried packs of food, some clothes, a flashlight, and a Lifestraw. He didn’t know where he was going, but he started walking.

Adam quickly discovered that no matter how much money he spent, it replenished itself. Despite this, he spent frugally. When he wore out a pair of shoes, he bought new ones. He bought shoes for every homeless person he passed, often giving away his jackets as well. Anything he had with him, even cash.

He didn’t bother to shave, and when he entered cities, people shied away from him. He knocked on doors, offering a hundred dollars to anyone who’d let him come in and take a shower. The 43rd house let him in, gave him a hot shower and a meal, and a dry bed. They refused his money, but he left some in the mailbox for them. He didn’t bother shaving or trimming his hair, but it was good to be clean again.

He woke one morning under an overpass with snow falling all around. As he sat there, still half asleep and cold, he watched a minivan crash headfirst into the cement median. He was moving before he’d thought too much about it, skidding down the rise to where the engine was sparking, smoke filling the cabin. The man in the driver’s seat was unconscious, and Adam picked up a broken piece of concrete and smashed the window in. By now, another car had stopped, the driver calling for an ambulance.

Adam lifted himself into the cabin, the broken glass cutting into his palms, and released the seatbelt, dragging the man out of the seat and he lay him on the side of the road.

“Don’t touch him!” he shouted at the woman running over, and he went back. In the backseat was an unconscious child and a screaming infant. Rather than risk breaking the glass over them, he climbed in through the front window and freed the infant first, passing her into the arms of another Good Samaritan, and then he heard the tell-tale click of the engine, the deadly combination of sparks and spilt gasoline. He lunged backwards, covering the little girl with his body as the flames exploded around him.

To him, they were as cold as winter’s breath.

When the initial flames receded, he pulled her out of her seat, kicking out the back windshield, and he fell into the arms of two firefighters. They lifted her out of his arms, and another helped lower him to the ground. His skin was covered in ash and his clothes were charred and he looked up at the sky and began to laugh.

He laughed as they fit him with an oxygen mask. He laughed when he woke in the hospital, being treated for minor burns, and they released him that afternoon. The driver’s wife had already paid for his costs. He checked on them before he left, and they were all okay.

He remembered now, he remembered why he’d wanted to go to medical school. Someone had once told him it wasn’t enough to want to help people to be a doctor, but he wasn’t the same as he was then. The drive was the same, but the path was different. He had seen behind the curtain, and he couldn’t remember meeting any hunter doctors. Of course, he didn’t even know how to get in contact with the hunter circle, but he knew who would.

Crossing the Midwest on foot in the middle of winter probably wasn’t the brightest idea, but Adam had gotten used to the leisurely travel. Besides, the cold hadn't bothered him in a long time. His will kept him going, never pausing for more than a few hours, and by the time he found his way to the bunker, he was exhausted and freezing.

The water of the shower cascaded over him, steaming on his cold skin, and Adam smiled, letting his head fall back and the water rush over his face. He got out, dressing in warm clothes that were too big for him, and demolished three bowls of soup and two grilled cheese sandwiches before he was full.

“Adam...if I had known…” Sam was saying, and Adam shook his head.

“I’ve been well looked after this whole time, don’t worry about that. I just had to find myself again.”

“So you have?” Gabriel asked, bouncing Simon on his lap. “Found yourself?”

Adam nodded, covering his mouth to clear his throat. “I’m going back to medical school.”

* * *

 “Here are the files from the Southern Reaches.”

Crowley raised a hand to take the files without looking up from the report he was reading. He wondered when running Hell had become more paperwork than not, but cleaning up the mess left from eons of overzealous religious bullshit was never an easy job. He’d decided a total overhaul was the best solution, and that included a total revision from the ground up.

Back to the basics, Hell divided into regions, each region had a Knight, all the Knights reported to him. Everyone had a job, and it was blood and guts for everyone who wanted it.

Bela, Tzipporah’s second, had become his right hand. She was fierce and crafty and he absolutely adored her. There was a healthy level of rivalry between them, but also a deep layer of respect. After all, he’d faced down Michael and survived. That always got him bragging rights.

She wore Tzipporah’s ring on a chain around her neck, clearly visible against her sternum over the collar of her dress.

“Castiel has once again requested your presence.” She added with a smile. “Are you going to answer this time?”

Crowley sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, dropping his head nearly to his desk. “This is the fourth time this week.”

“Well, you’ve ignored his last three requests, and the seven from last month.”

He grumbled something inaudible into the report on his desk before standing, grabbing his jacket from the chair and slipping it on, smoothing the fabric.

“Might as well go and see what he wants. Keep an eye on things, darling?”

“Of course.” Bela smiled. “I might even go scare some sense into District Four.”

“Don’t forget the forceps.”

There was a door at the back of his office with an antique key in the lock. Turn it left, and it was a simple closet full of ordinary magical trinkets. Turn it right, and it was simply dark. Stepping into the darkness, however, was a leap of faith that took one straight upstairs. Three steps in and Crowley blinked to adjust to the sudden light.

Castiel’s office was at the end of the hallway, and Crowley let himself in, moving past where Heaven’s Regent stood discussing something with Ireul and Gadreel, and dropping into a seat across from his desk. He waited while Castiel finished whatever he was doing, and when the other two stepped out, Castiel came over and sat in the seat next to him, sighing softly.

“Working hard or hardly working?” Crowley mused, folding his hands in his lap as he looked over at the other. For all the time they’d spent together, this Castiel was like a stranger to him. He couldn’t place his finger on what was wrong. The lack of Dean, maybe? It looked like Castiel, talked like Castiel, thought like Castiel, but it was like looking at a black and white recording of the angel he’d known.

“I am working hard, as you well know.” Castiel sounded ragged, shoulders slumping slightly as they sat there.

“Hard holding up the whole world on your own, isn’t it?”

“I am not alone.”

“Sure seems like it though.” Crowley sat up, leaning towards the angel. “You know...I’m a good listener.”

Castiel turned that sad blue gaze on him. “I don’t know if I could adequately explain. It’d be easier just to tell you why I called you.”

“We’ll get to that.” Crowley waved a hand. “You’re not redirecting. Talk to me. You walked away from Dean, something I never thought you’d do. You nearly shanked me a few times for threatening him. Now you’re on autopilot.”

“I am doing what must be done.”

“Bollocks.” Crowley huffed.

“I…” Castiel closed his eyes. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Everything should be fine. I have all my memories, from my birth until now, but...it’s like looking at the pictures of someone else’s life. I recognize myself, and I know the emotions that go with the pictures, but I don’t feel them.”

“That’s...odd.”

“Ireul is seeking an answer for me, but until then, I can only do what I must.” Castiel stood. “Until then, I do not wish to pretend I care for someone when I can’t fathom why I should.”

“Okay.” Crowley shrugged, standing as well and facing the angel as the other moved around his desk. “What do you need me for?”

“Hell is running smoothly under your watch. The Balance is nearly righted.” Castiel spread a map over his desk, the other objects disappearing to give them a full view. “I am concerned, however, about the state of Purgatory since the battle. Considering who was lost there during the war, I wanted to offer you the position of leading the expedition.”

His heart thumped heavily in his chest, as if trying to restart itself, and Crowley stood, the chair sliding back a couple inches with the suddenness of the movement.

“What, you want me to happen upon his mangled body?” His voice scratched with everything he wished he couldn’t feel, wings stiff and feathers raised. “If there’s anything left of him after the Leviathan retreated?”

“I thought you would at least want to know what happened.”

“Unless you give me leave to dice the bastard that killed him, then you better lose my number.”

Castiel’s face fell, and he looked down at his desk, hands tense upon the edge of it. When he spoke again, there was a whisper of the angel he knew, and Crowley’s lips twisted into a wry grin as the distance between them crumbled.

“I'll sharpen the blade.”

* * *

 Making sure Bela was prepared to handle Hell in his absence was unexpectedly easier than dealing with the dozen angels assigned to the Purgatory assessment. They left Heaven through the same gate Bobby had died trying to reach, and Crowley became used to the bile rising at the back of his throat. It seared and boiled against his skin, giving a voice to the rage inside him.

He’d expected the same colorless coliseum of foul souls tearing each other apart, but the moment they stepped through to Purgatory, a strange odor greeted them. It took Crowley a few minutes to realize it was the smell of fresh water, of wet earth as new sprouts pushed through. The angels spread out like wings around him, each taking in the new glow of what was once the fear of all races.

“This is Purgatory?”

Crowley looked over at the angel, Dumah, he thought. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, and stretching his own scarlet wings.

“No point in standing here gawking.” Crowley ordered. “We have a report to make.”

They nodded, following his lead. It was an oddly strange feeling to be so easily commanding angels. Normally, he had to have some form of leverage. Now, Castiel ordered them to follow, and they followed. They trusted him. After all these years of civil war and chaos, everything was falling back into place. Maybe not exactly the same place, but things were working.

There wasn’t much left of the trail that Sam had taken up the mountain, but with twelve angels and himself, it could’ve been lit with a neon sign. He was fine until they came upon the spot where Bobby and Sam had split up, and he knelt down, brushing his fingers over the new grass. He took a deep breath, straightening up.

“Mihr, Yehudah...come with me. Dumah, take everyone else and follow the path back to where they got in. I want it sealed over. No more back doors.”

They each raised a hand to their chest, saluting him as they moved past and continued on, following the trail. Only the two he had named stayed behind, watching him. Crowley waved them both forward, and moved on. Bobby’s trail was far easier to follow, as he’d been making an effort to leave one. Sitting through that part of Sam’s story had been like swallowing glass, knowing it was just like Bobby to sacrifice himself for his boys. Frankly...selfishly...Crowley just wished that Bobby had thought of him too.

A lifetime of being alone, of always running, of never saying his own name outloud...to find someone who didn’t care about any of that, whether he had wings or not, and then to lose him? Once again staring down the cold, dark wasteland of eternity, like the barrel of a gun without a trigger, and he was alone.

He watched the Leviathan as they grew closer to the dying man, slowing their approach as they sensed his death upon him. Crowley tensed as they surrounded him, Mihr and Yehudah pausing several feet backwards as the very air around the Hellking seemed to darken. Crowley dropped to his knees, touching the ground where Bobby had laid in his last moments. His wings trembled, and he reached into the air. Time trembled, and he could almost feel Bobby next to him, gasping for breath. He reached forward, expecting to feel the press of death against him. He could bring him back again. It wouldn’t take much to find his soul, restore him…

A breath against his ear, and a voice he hadn’t expected to hear again.

_You are not alone._

“Lady Ezrys?” Crowley whispered, opening his eyes, and the whispered words echoed softly through his mind.

He looked back at the dark stain on the ground, the Leviathans’ filth twisting the memory of the earth. Crowley flicked his fingers as if trying to wipe it away, but the problem that had been nagging at him started to materialize just out of reach.

There was no death here.

Crowley took a deep breath, blinking to clear a sudden blurriness in his vision. He looked around, but nothing was clear. He felt a presence next to him, and looked up to see Mihr kneeling, looking at the ground.

“There was a group that came from the south, killed the Leviathan. Took the human.”

“Which way did they take him?” His voice didn’t break. That would be absurd.

Yehudah beckoned them from further beyond the path, and Crowley let them take the lead, two angels walking to either side of the trail that remained. The further they went, the clearer the trail became until it turned into an actual path. A small city laid out before them, rows of houses and cultivated ground. The souls of monsters milled through green fields, and as the angels neared, they drew still, shrinking back against their homes.

“Huh.” Crowley breathed, not quite sure he believed what he was seeing, walking down between the houses to what was the widest path leading through the village. There were more people there, and they all parted for the three angels, their eyes wide and their bodies stiff. Every face was wrong.

“Hey princess.”

Crowley stopped right where he was, swallowing hard as he turned. There was something different in his voice, not wrong, just different, as if he were speaking through a mouthful of cotton. When he looked at him, his blood was wrong. His heartbeat, his skin, and then their eyes met.

“Bobby.”

“I know...I…” Bobby shrugged, looking away from him and ducking his head. “Benny gave me a choice and I...well, I ain’t gonna beat around the bush. I’m a vampire now. A monster. But I won’t die, not as easy. I’ll last as long as you will...if you’ll still have me.”

Crowley just stared at him for what could’ve been seconds, or an eternity. Time didn’t matter, nor really anything else. The damn Void could’ve fallen on his head, and he probably would’ve still ended up laughing. The little furrow Bobby got between his eyes just made him laugh harder, then Crowley skipped forward and kissed him. He waited until Bobby’s arms folded around him before he pulled away.

“You really became a vampire just for me?”

“I know what it’s like to be alone.” Bobby murmured, and Crowley wrapped his arms around him, touching their foreheads together and giggling. It was stupid and ridiculous and he was certain that if anyone in Hell ever heard about this, he’d be ruined. Laughing and crying over a single human-turned-vampire?

“You’ll have to help me control the blood lust.”

“Control?” Crowley laughed. “I’ll have you so drunk on my blood, you won’t want anyone else.”

Crowley stopped his protests with a kiss. “Half-angel, remember? I can heal myself as fast as you can drink. Besides, if you fed on anyone else, I’d get jealous. You wouldn’t like me jealous.”

“I liked you when you were a demon. Pretty sure that’s worse.”

“Oh, you always know just what to say.” Crowley grinned, and Bobby picked him up to a surprised yelp from the smaller man. Bobby grinned up at him.

“Yeah, no more hurt back.”

“I am going to ruin you.” Crowley laughed and kissed him.

* * *

 When Sam asked him if he was worried about paying for tuition, Adam just shrugged with a small smile on his face. He’d shaved and gotten a haircut, as well as buying a new backpack and laptop. He wasn’t worried about a damn thing.

He applied to the pre-med program, and he got in, no questions asked. He went to check his tuition balance, and it was paid up. His books arrived at his apartment the day after he moved in. As he decorated the small apartment Lucifer had originally left him in, he hummed to himself, the radio blaring rock as he hung up an artist’s rendition of the angel Lucifer before the fall.

“Okay,” He stopped outside of his first class, looking up. “Luci, no coercing the teachers to give me better grades. I have to earn them. Understand?”

There was no response, but his first test came back as a B-. Adam grinned, then resolved to do even better.  By the time midterms came around, he had a 4.0, and he was pretty sure his classmates thought he was a Satanist. He may have bought a copy of the Satanic Bible to perpetuate this rumor.

It wasn’t until fall break that the loneliness that he’d been fighting off day by day came back in full force now that his mind wasn’t occupied. He talked with Sam every day. He’d made a couple friends, but the majority of his time was spent studying. When a pretty blonde from his chemistry class asked him out, his stomach bottomed out. He stammered through an apology, and stumbled back to his apartment, fighting the lump in his throat.

“Lucifer,” He murmured, sitting on his bed with his knees tucked to his chest. “I still want you. I’ve got a good life here, a future, but it won’t be much of one without you. So please...come talk to me. Please.”

When no immediate response came, Adam sighed, took a shower, and went to bed.

He woke a couple hours later to the feeling of someone watching him. He sat up quickly, casting his eyes around the dark room, getting tangled in his tshirt. There was a touch to his shoulder that sent a spark through him, and everything slowed down.

“Lucifer.” He breathed, reaching hands out into the darkness. Hands found his, solid hands, and he pulled her forward onto the bed with him. He reached past them to cut the bedside light on, blinking in the sudden light, one hand holding Lucifer’s tightly as if afraid she might disappear.

She was looking down where she held his hand in her lap, both of her hands folded over his.

“I want to give you a chance…”

“I know.”

“I just thought…”

“I know.”

“You didn’t deserve…”

Adam tucked his knuckles under her chin, turning her head to face him. “Lucifer…”

Her eyes were wide, and so terribly lonely, matching the empty ache inside of him. How could they ever have been apart after all the time they spent together?

“ _You_ don’t deserve what you’re putting yourself through.”

“You should be angry with me,” She whispered, and Adam shrugged.

“I was. I got over it. Now come here.”

Lucifer went with him as he laid back down, tugging her into his arms. She draped her wings over him just like they used to, and Adam smiled, closing his eyes to go back to sleep. Instead, he felt her leg nudge between his, pressing her thigh up against his groin.

“Lucifer…” He swallowed the moan building in his throat, his hips twitching. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d even thought about sex, and his body seemed quick to remind him of that abstinence. “What are you doing?”

“This is what humans do, isn’t it?” Her voice was right against his ear, a soft purr that sent shivers down his spine. “Make-up sex? I admit I’m a bit inexperienced with the physical side of things, but I’m also a quick learner.”

Adam groaned, trying and failing to stifle the sound. “Fuck…”

“That’s the plan.” Lucifer chuckled, and Adam rolled her onto her back, kneeling above her with a hand on either side of her head.

“You’ve never done this before.”

“I’ve done what angels do.” Lucifer smirked up at him, lifting her thigh against him once more. He couldn’t help but grind down against her. “And I know the basics of how it works.”

Adam matched her smirk then. “Theory isn’t something that holds up in situations like this. So you just lay back, and let me show you the ropes.”

* * *

The custodian couldn’t figure out how _all_ the lights in the apartment complex went out overnight. They didn’t even have enough light bulbs in stock to replace them all. Residents reported something like an electrical surge in the wee hours of the morning. They were all set to record that as the cause, until it happened again just before lunch. And after lunch. Twice more before sunset, and then one last time near midnight. The next morning, everything was fixed as if nothing had happened.

Random fluctuation of the electrical circuits was what the inspector chalked it up to. A certain couple couldn’t find this more hilarious.

* * *

“So Benny has rallied most of the monsters in Purgatory and they’ve formed their own society. There’s still a few psychos out there who hunt because they enjoy killing, but for the most part, it’s pretty peaceful. The Leviathans don’t have much of a bog to swim in considering the whole of Purgatory and Heaven is against them.”

“Thank you, Crowley.” Castiel murmured, closing the report Mihr had submitted earlier that day.

“Bobby’s going to join me at the villa for a while, until things settle down on Earth. He doesn’t want to have to go toe-to-toe with any free range hunters.”

Castiel nodded. “Yes, Misha is still working on the Department of Supernatural Investigation. We have the manpower and the knowledge, but no one to lead. Lucifer is leading our ambassadors in recruitment, but…”

“Doesn’t Lucifer need a vessel for that?” Crowley sat forward. “How did you manage to get someone to say yes to Satan?”

“Lucifer is not Satan, Crowley. She has expressed every wish to redeem herself, and that is why I put her in charge of this project. As far as her vessel, I made her a special vessel that should prove durable.”

“You...made one.”

“Yes. It was fairly simple.”

Crowley tapped his chin lightly. “Oh. Simple.”

“Yes. I used what humans call cloning.”

“Cloning.”

“I borrowed Sam’s DNA, with permission, and used it to create Lucifer a female vessel. I made some minor alterations, but so far, it has been sufficient.”

Crowley grinned. “Castiel...I never imagined you’d be one to think so far out of the box. It’s like there is no box. It’s wonderful. I wonder how neither Michael nor Lucifer themselves stumbled upon that little loophole.”

“I believe,” Castiel gave a little smile. “They were too attached to the box.” 

* * *

 It had been just another day, or it was supposed to be. More reports from Earth and from Aye, listening to Gadreel and Ireul, and then the doors burst in and the one person he’d been terrified of and desperate to see was standing there. The fledgling inside him stirred when she felt the Grace of her father, and then he felt Dean’s lips against his and everything slowed down. Months of longing boiled down to one moment, and Dean’s arms were around him. The entire Three Seams weighing on him, and Dean wanted him for him.

The next few hours were the best he could remember, taking Dean to the small cove beneath the silver trees he’d come to call home. He’d made a nest there, and they lay side by side, sharing their Grace. Dean’s fingers moved through his hair, his lips rarely leaving his skin, finding his cheek, his forehead, his lips, his fingertips, and Castiel smiled, curling against his side. Dean’s wings folded around him, Castiel’s own massive ebony wings wrapping around them both and hiding them from the world. The smallest pair still dwarfed Dean’s, but they curled intimately around Dean’s waist, holding him close.

Dean’s hand rested against his stomach, and their fledgling moved actively against his touch.

“She’s ready to meet you.” Castiel murmured.

“She?” Dean grinned. “Simon will be happy to hear that. He wants a little sister.”

Castiel nodded, closing his eyes and tucking his head against Dean’s shoulder. “I didn’t know what I was going to do if she came before we...before I…”

“Shhh,” Dean kissed his forehead, squeezing him gently. “Don’t think about that. I’m here. We’ll fix everything, just one day at a time, okay?”

Castiel nodded again, lifting his head to kiss him. Dean shuddered, having forgotten how Castiel could make him feel like the most precious thing in existence with the smallest touch.

The same second in which that warmth flooded through him, Dean felt a twinge somewhere behind his navel that grew into a steady pull. Castiel tensed next to him, a small whine escaping his lips. Dean curled up slightly, looking down at him.

“Cas? What’s wrong?”

Castiel’s smile was strained. “Did I not say she was eager to meet you?”

Dean sat up fully then, his wings flaring against the dome of Castiel’s. “What!? Now? She’s coming now? Is that okay? Is she early?”

Castiel smiled up at him, reaching up to brush his cheek with his fingertips.

“Lay back down, Dean. Everything is fine.”

“I should get Ireul.” Dean licked his lips, eyes darting over Castiel as if to figure out exactly _how_ this was going to happen.

“No, all I need is you.” Castiel closed his eyes again, and Dean let Castiel draw him back down into his arms.

The pull behind his navel increased, and Dean realized that it was trying to reach his Grace, so he quickly pushed it forward to the edge of his being. Light began to build between them, slow, dim like the flame of a candle just catching alight. Dean lost track of time as the light ebbed and flowed around them, growing by the faintest of degrees. Castiel stayed calm in his arms, and as it was the very first time they came together, their Grace began to blur together until he could no longer tell where he ended and Castiel began. As he laid his head down, he realized it didn’t matter.

It could’ve been hours or days, but when they fell apart, it was dark. It took him a few moments to regain awareness of his surroundings. He could make out the light streaming through Castiel’s feathers, but there was no such thing as night and day in heaven. Dean reached out to Castiel, touching his Grace tentatively, and Castiel shied away, grumbling wordlessly. As Castiel shifted bodily away from him, there was another movement between them. Dean sat up slowly, feeling a slight weight against his arm.

As his eyes adjusted, his heart leapt into his throat. Laying on Castiel’s wing, with her tiny hands wrapped around his feathers, was their baby girl. She looked up at him with wide blue eyes, and Dean swallowed hard, blinking quickly as he leaned down to kiss her forehead. She gurgled happily, and Castiel stirred again.

“Shh,” Dean murmured, stripping off his shirt to wrap her in it, lifting her carefully into his arms.

She looked remarkably human, but he could feel the steady thrum of her Grace like a heartbeat beneath her skin, healthy and strong. The moment he held her against his chest, he felt her draw from his Grace, nursing on his essence. He couldn’t stop smiling, brushing his fingers tenderly over her head, the light-colored down of her hair like silk. She had galaxies in her eyes.

“You are so beautiful,” He whispered, and she looked up at him. He wrapped his Grace around her, rocking her gently.

Castiel was drifting, a crashing broken ship on a stormy sea. The energy that had filled him, sculpting his Grace into the archangel he had become, rose from where it had lain dormant. Months before, when it had encountered the alien Grace of the fledgling, it hadn’t known quite what to do. Unable to retreat and unable to advance, it had curled around the anomaly and waited. Now it swarmed into the vacancy, knitting the threads of Castiel’s Grace back together, reforming connections, and completing the task it had set forth upon so many months before.

The energy dissipated, spent at last, and Castiel’s lashes fluttered as he opened his eyes. His wings shifted, allowing more light into their sanctuary, and he sat up, every movement controlled and cautious. He looked at Dean and their daughter, Grace thrumming, and he reached out slowly, touching Dean’s shoulder. Dean looked up at him, watching as Castiel molded his hand to Dean’s mark. A shudder rippled through Castiel, and he looked up, holding Dean’s gaze.

“I remember.”

Dean’s brow rose slightly, and Castiel shifted over next to him, laying his head on Dean’s shoulder.

“Oh, Dean.”

“You remember.”

“Everything.” Castiel’s eyes shone brightly. “I don’t know how but...I do. I’m me again.”

Dean let out a choked cry, kissing him over their daughter’s head. They lingered together, and when they parted, Dean touched his forehead to Castiel’s, laughing weakly.

“We made it.” he whispered. “We made it through, we survived. Together.”

Castiel laughed, then shifted back to see their daughter. “She looks like you.”

“What? No, she’s got your eyes.”

“Infants often have blue eyes upon birth. It makes sense she would resemble you physically; I have no corporeal form.”

Dean paused, blinking for a moment, then he shook his head. “Damn. It _is_ you.”

Castiel chuckled, brushing his fingertips lightly over her hair. “We need to name her.”

“I…” Dean started then bit his lip. “I have an idea about that, actually. Been thinking about it for a while.”

“Mary?”

Dean laughed. “No, I mean, I thought about that but...what about Hope?”

Castiel’s gaze softened, and he looked back down at her. Slowly, a smile spread over his face, and he nodded. “I think Hope is a wonderful name.”

“Can we…” Dean swallowed, shifting back and forth. “Would it be safe to take her to Earth? Can she travel?”

“Of course, Dean.” Castiel kissed his temple. “I’ll wrap her in my Grace and…”

“I’ve got it.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow, but conceded. “As you wish.”

Dean smiled, casting his eyes down as his cheeks colored. “Just...you’ve held her for months. I just got her.”

Castiel kissed him again. “Of course.”

He took his arm and tugged him up onto his feet. “Let’s go.”

* * *

 The light knock on the door received no answer, and Dean pushed it inward, looking around the room where he’d left his brother and brother-in-law what he could only assume was the night before. Castiel was downstairs with Mary, the elderly woman pulling out a chest of old baby clothes as Hope was clad only in Dean’s plaid flannel. He could hear them talking, and he quickly headed back downstairs.

“Hey, Mary, do you know where my brother went?” he asked, smiling at the sight of Hope in a pale yellow onesie with pink flowers on it. Mary was swaddling her in a soft blue blanket before passing her back into Castiel’s arms.

“They went up to the house with Mitch this morning.” She was positively beaming. “I think you two should head up there. It sounded like they were planning something.”

It was late afternoon as they headed out, deciding to walk the few miles to take advantage of the pleasant weather. Hope cooed softly as they walked, and as they neared the house, a soft glow could be seen framing the house. It seemed to be coming from behind, so Dean and Castiel circled around the house to the backyard.

The yard was full. Smoke rose from the new grill and the newly pruned fruit trees that Castiel had planted years before were full of lights. Dean felt a burden he didn’t know he was carrying lift from his shoulders when he saw who was manning the grill, and even who was standing beside him.

“Bobby!”

Bobby looked up and grinned, leaving the grill in Crowley’s capable hands as he walked over, pulling Dean into a tight hug. Dean laughed, squeezing him back just as intently. He stepped back, clapping Bobby’s shoulder.

“I should’ve known they wouldn’t be able to kill you, old man.”

“Heh.” Bobby smiled. “They almost did. Your buddy, Benny....he gave me a get-out-of-jail-free card..”

Dean’s eyes widened. “You’re a…?”

Bobby nodded, and Crowley came up behind him, circling his arms around Bobby’s waist.

“And he’s mine. All mine. Forever.”

Dean laughed, wrapping an arm around Castiel’s shoulders, and Bobby caught sight of the bundle in his arms.

“Is that…?”

Castiel stepped forward just as Gabriel caught sight of them and dragged Sam over, Simon balanced easily on his hip. Dean couldn’t stop grinning.

“Everybody...meet baby Hope Winchester.”

Gabriel squealed, shaking Sam excitedly. Dean took Simon from the hyper archangel, holding him against his chest so he could see.

_/Her name is Hope./_

Simon’s face lit up, and he leaned forward, touching her cheek. “Ope.”

Sam pushed Gabriel lightly to get him to stop shaking him, pulling out his phone so he could get a picture. Castiel looked up at Dean, and their eyes met just as Sam took the picture. Dean looked into Castiel’s eyes, the eyes that held galaxies, the eyes that had seen the birth of the world and still looked at him as if he were the most beautiful thing he’d ever beheld, and he leaned forward, catching Castiel’s lips once more.

“Damn, you two made a pretty baby.”

Gabriel’s voice was close and Dean opened his eyes to find the archangel tucked against Castiel’s other side, peering down at the tiny infant. Hope gurgled, holding her arms up to her uncle. Castiel’s arms tightened around her, however, and Gabriel backed off.

“We’ve only had her for a few hours.” Castiel murmured placatingly, and Gabriel just shook his head, grinning.

“You don’t have to explain, Cas. We understand.” Sam grinned, wrapping an arm around Gabriel’s shoulders. “We actually have someone we want you to meet.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, looking at Castiel, who shrugged. He balanced Simon on his hip, Castiel following him as they both followed Sam and Gabriel inside. Bobby went to rejoin Crowley at the grill, putting an arm around the Hellking’s waist and kissing the side of his head. Inside, in the breakfast nook by the kitchen, was another couple holding hands over the table, the woman practically sitting in the man’s lap. Dean paused, his jaw dropping as he recognized both parties.

“Uh...what?”

“Hey Dean,” Adam greeted him with a smile, standing, which forced the woman to slide back to her own chair where she pouted.

Dean nodded, dumbstruck, then gestured between them. “You and...Luci?”

Lucifer stood and tucked herself against Adam’s side, grinning as Adam wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“Yeah. It’s insane. But when have we ever been normal?”

Dean shook his head slowly. “You know what? What the hell. I’m pretty sure if Luci was going to be any trouble, Gabe and Cas would’ve done something by now.”

Lucifer smiled, a softness in her features that solidified Dean’s belief. As if any one of them had the right to deny someone a second chance. “Thank you, Dean. Really.”

Dean waved a hand, shaking his head. “Don’t thank me, I might change my mind.”

“Come on,” Sam nudged him. Dean nodded, and followed Sam back into the living room. Adam and Lucifer sat back down at the nook, Lucifer resting her head against Adam’s shoulder. Adam turned his head and kissed her forehead.

In the living room was a wooden crib, lined with cushions. Gabriel was bending over the side, and Castiel watched as his brother lifted a gurgling babe from the crib, only a few months old.

“This is Luke,” Gabriel beamed, carrying him over to them.

“Cuzin.” Simon giggled as Dean gaped.

“You and Sam had a kid?”

“Yes and no.” Sam chuckled, going around them to place an arm around Gabriel. “Lucifer’s Grace split, and she didn’t have a mate so Gabe took the fledgling from her, transferred it into his Grace. Gabriel used part of my soul when Luke was born, so I guess you could say he’s a third mine, a third Gabriel’s, and a third Lucifer’s.”

Castiel had stepped forward, smiling down at his nephew. “He’s going to be an archangel.”

Gabriel nodded proudly. “We’ll do better this time. He’ll grow up in a safe world, where there is Balance and peace.”

Castiel held Hope in the crook of his arm, brushing a hand over Luke’s head, then he looked up and around the room, around their house, nearly perfectly restored. The only things missing were the personal touches that would only come with time. His family all together beneath one roof. He turned from Gabriel, his gaze alighting on Adam and Lucifer in the other room, Bobby and Crowley outside, Sam and Gabriel beside them with their son, and finally came to rest on the babe he held in his arms. Hope gurgled up at him, and Castiel felt a warmth against his side as Dean moved to stand beside him, tears in his mate’s eyes when they met his own, Simon held on Dean’s other side.

“We made it.” Dean whispered, touching his forehead to Castiel’s. “We _made_ it.”

Castiel smiled up at him, reaching his free hand up to cup his cheek.

“All is well.”

 

 


	18. Epilogue

 

**_TWELVE YEARS LATER_ **

 

A black SUV rolled to a stop in the parking lot in front of the school, the front license plate reading DSI-1. A man in a black suit and mirrored aviators got out of the front seat and jogged around to the other side, opening the back side door.

“Okay, you know the drill, everybody out!”

Four boys and two girls all but fell over each other on the way out of the SUV, shouldering backpacks. The eldest girl, a beauty with blonde curls cascading over her shoulders, got out next to last, turning to offer a hand to her older brother. The other children milled about each other until the man clapped his hands.

“Everybody gather in!”

The troupe gathered around him, linking hands together. The man smiled at each one of them.

“New year, and we’re gonna kill it, aren’t we?”

They all nodded enthusiastically and the man looked around, turning his glasses up so he could look at each one of them in their eyes. Simon, the oldest, gripping Hope’s hand as she stuck close to him, protective of her ‘disabled’ big brother. Luke on her other side, grinning fit to burst. The twins, Joel and Daniel, watching him through familiar blue eyes, and lastly, the youngest, Jessica.

Dean grinned down at them. His children. His nephew. His niece.

“Dad,” Hope chimed in, nudging him. “You have to go, or you’re gonna be late.”

“I’m the director. I can’t be late.” Dean laughed, and she elbowed him playfully.

“No excuses.”

Dean shook his head, but held out his arms. “Okay guys, hugs and kisses. No groaning.”

He bent as they all got in close, wrapping their arms around each other, holding tight. He kissed the head of each one of them, then pulled back. “Go on. Joel, Daniel, behave. Luke, look after Jess, it’s her first day. Simon…”

They were all too far away by then, but Simon turned and waved to him, signing ‘I love you, Dad.’

Dean took a deep breath, watching them enter the school. He signed back to Simon, then closed the doors of the SUV and got back in the driver’s seat.

“They’re growing up so fast.”

Dean laughed, looking over at his husband, the Regent of Heaven having just appeared in the passenger seat. “I figured it would be forever for you.”

“No.” Castiel smiled. “Time seems to speed up when you have children.”

Dean reached over to take his hand, squeezing. “Any more and we might have to get a friggin’ van.”

“Adam and Lucifer are expecting.”

“Son of a bitch…” Dean grinned even as he dropped his head back against the headrest. “You know, once upon a time, I thought retirement would be boring.”

“You’re not retired. You’re just non-combative.” Castiel squeezed his hand as well, then leaned over to kiss him. “No one could do your job.”

“Director of the Department of Supernatural Investigation? If only I could change the dress code.”

“I think you look rather fetching in a suit.”

Dean opened his eyes, meeting Castiel’s. “Yeah? Just how fetching?”

Castiel just smirked. “You’re going to be late for work.”

 

* * *

  _[ THE END ]_

 

 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers:
> 
> Thank you for sticking with me this far. I know it took a while to get done, and we’ve been up and down through it all. I’m so grateful for all the feedback I’ve received, all the comments which drove me to finish even after I thought I had lost all muse. 
> 
> I want to specifically thank Ashley, Erin, and Hailey for helping me work through the plot, and for proofreading and providing early feedback. You guys are the best. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Live long and prosper.


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